


Though Our Hearts Were Barely Beating, They Were Bleeding Outward In

by BRNZ



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Armchair Therapy, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale has Issues, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Be Careful What You Wish For, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Competence Kink, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Crowley Is A Pine Tree In Sunglasses, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley has a past injury, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Gabriel is an arsehole, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have no idea what I'm doing, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inappropriate Humor, Insecurity, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned Warlock Dowling, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Crowley, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Reflection, Sex Toys, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vulnerability, What Was I Thinking?, self-care, the author is a head case clearly, the slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 131,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21531799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRNZ/pseuds/BRNZ
Summary: AU - Dr AZ Fell accidentally tips a cup of hot tea over a tall red headed stranger on his way to the train station, requiring him to dust off his old nursing skills.Crowley certainly didn't expect to end up lying on a filthy Soho pavement, with his shirt literally ripped open while he tried not to scream at the pain.Two strangers meet via a chance encounter, one hands the other a business card with an apology......what happens next?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1220
Kudos: 874





	1. A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> So I got hit with a couple of scenes for an AU, and spent a few days sketching an outline. I have the shape of this in my head, but writing it as I go, so pls be patient with me.
> 
> Title is from a Digital Daggers song Just Beneath The Flames

Aziraphale sidled out of the way of the busy morning foot traffic, dunking the peppermint tea bags repeatedly before tidily placing them in the rubbish bin. He liked his tea very hot and strong, but found it went bitter the longer the bags steeped so he liked to remove them.

Fumbling in his pocket for the lid to his insulated travel cup, he turned to resume his trek to the train station, when he was jostled abruptly from behind. To his horror, the steaming hot tea was flung sideways, right across the chest of the tall red headed man striding impatiently through the crowd.

With a startled FUCK! the man reeled backwards, swearing repeatedly as he ricocheted off several annoyed pedestrians, tripping over backwards, coming to rest in a leggy sprawl on the dirty Soho pavement, still swearing quite creatively.

Aziraphale sprang forward, tucking his satchel under the fiery red hair, pressing one hand firmly on the expensive looking claret silk shirt.

“STOP! Stay down! Did you hit your head? Are you hurting anywhere?”

“Ow Ow _Ow_ FUCK! Besides the third degree burn you just gave me, you fucking clumsy idiot!”

Aziraphale looked up at the assembled bystanders “I’m a nurse, I need at least two bottles of water to treat the burn, can anyone help?”

Several sport drinking bottles were shoved in his direction, he grabbed the nearest two, unscrewing the lid of one and tipping it over the still cursing burn victim, who yelped as the cold water drenched his torso. Stopping to look at his unintended patient, Aziraphale said firmly,

“I’m going to apply a field dressing. There is a clinic a couple of blocks away who will be able to treat you properly. I’m sorry about the accident. Will you let me help?”

He was sure the man was glaring at him, but it was hard to tell behind the very dark sunglasses but the taut chest underneath him slumped.  
  
“Yeah fuck, just hurry it up will’ya”

Carefully he untucked the heavy silk shirt, grabbed the front tails he murmured “Apologies for this” and ripped it open up the front, ivory buttons popping off, baring a sculpted chest, marked with some intriguing tattoos at hip and shoulder.  
  
The burned skin was an angry red, not as bad as he expected, but obviously painful. He slowly poured cool water over the inflammation, his patient hissing in response. Emptying the first bottle, he started on the second, leaving a little in the bottom.  
  
“Sorry about the shirt, but had to make sure it didn’t stick to your skin.” Pulling one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs out of his shirt pocket, Aziraphale folded it to cover the burn area and then drenched it in the last of the water. He laid it over the burn gently, wincing in sympathy as his patient flinched at the contact.  
  
Unwinding his cashmere scarf, he began to gently pat off the excess water from his patient, the shirt was soaked, but the cold wouldn’t help him if he went into shock. Working his way quickly down the mans heaving chest, he pressed the cloth into the top of his now soaked black jeans.

An amused drawl broke him out of his frantic thoughts “A bit lower and this would almost be worth it….” Aziraphale glanced up, realised where his hands were. His gaze raked the torso of the man, seeing him suddenly as a gorgeous, soaked, half naked man, and not a patient. Biting his lip to maintain his composure he sat back, and then reached out a hand.

“Can you sit up a bit, I want to wrap this?”

Pain writ itself across the mans face as he dragged himself upright. Aziraphale carefully wrapped the scarf around his torso, securing the wet handkerchief in place, tying off a tidy knot. Retrieving his satchel, he placed it beside him, raising to his feet, holding a hand out to his patient.  
  
“Stand up if you can, slowly. You might be a bit dizzy from shock. Its not a third degree burn, but it will be painful. Don’t put any burn cream on it, see a doctor.”

As the man swayed carefully to his feet, a quiet familiar voice sounded beside him.

“I will make sure he goes to the clinic Mr Fell.”

Turning with a smile, Aziraphale greeted his favourite barista “Oh my dearest girl, thankyou Beth.”

Bending he retrieved a business card from the front pocket of his satchel and presented it to the startled man

“Again my apologies for the accident, please do go with Beth to the clinic. Send me the bill for your drycleaning and shirt.”

Bemusedly the card was taken, he looked at his watch with a worried glance, he was going to miss his Oxford train now.

One last look at his patient “Will you be alright dear boy?”

The red head appeared to pause and process that, smirked half heartedly at him “Yeah, umm, thanks I guess.”

With a courteous nod Aziraphale merged with the morning foot traffic, leaving a startled tableau of people behind, it had only been a few minutes but the angel had worked quickly and quietly with no fuss.

Beth stepped forward and held her hand out “Hi I’m Beth, are you OK?”

With a snort the redhead replied “Who was that masked man? Yeah, Im Crowley” he shook her hand firmly, and then winced “This really fucking hurts, actually”

“Right, the clinic is this way” and she slowly led the way while he fumbled his phone out of his now soaked leather jacket, fortunately it hadn’t smashed when he fell.  
  
“Yeah Tracy its me, can you cancel all my appointments today? Yeah I know its fucking inconvenient, had an emergency, call you later.”

*********************************************  
Beth talked up his injury and they were seen immediately, while Crowley moaned and leaned pitifully against the wall, only slightly playacting up the pain.

After peeling off his wet clothes the Doctor laid him down and went to cut off the scarf, Crowley reached out a hand  
  
“Can you just untie it?” Questioning eyes looked up at him “It’s a nice scarf, like to return it.”

With a small smile, she obliged, soaking the handkerchief with saline before carefully peeling it off. She looked up at Crowley again.

“Your Guardian Angel must have been looking after you today. This is a nasty burn, but whoever treated you knew what they were doing. This could have been a lot worse.”

Panting under the pain of the burn being exposed to air, Crowley gasped out “Angel, yeah, ow this FUCKING _HURTS!_ ”

The Doctor shrugged “Well its going to do that for at least a week, possibly longer.”

Leaving the clinic with a sterile dressing taped in place, a list of instructions on how to treat it and what supplies to get, Crowley was surprised to see Beth still waiting for him.  
  
She smiled at him “You look like a guy who needs a very large coffee and some dry clothes.”

“Lead on love, I’m at your mercy.”

*************************************  
  
Ensconced in a battered but comfy sofa in a warm noisy café around the corner, Crowley sipped on his excellent Long Black, wincing at the pain of the burn still present after a handful of painkillers and an emergency Eggs Benedict.  
  
Beth had supplied a black tshirt, branded with a random band logo that was a little tight, but better than nothing, and his jacket was draped over a chair in front of the fire, in a hopeful attempt to dry it. The shirt he had tossed in the bin.

She sat opposite him, nursing her own latte and he was grilling her about his Guardian Angel.

“Mr Fell? Oh he lives round the corner, over the bookstore. Just the loveliest man. Our best customer.” She smiled in fond memory.

“What’s he do? For a crust?”

“I think he is a Professor or something? Always off to Oxford or Cambridge. Something to do with old books. Quite well off I think.”

“Didn’t he say he was a nurse?”

Beth blinked “Oh yes, but it was years ago. Before he went to Oxford himself I think.”

“But he lives in Soho?” Crowley figured all the professors would live in Oxford for convenience.  
  
“He inherited it from his Grandfather” Beth certainly seemed to know a lot, obviously he was a good customer.

“Yeah well thanks for the coffee and stuff, how much do I owe you?” But Beth waved him away “Mr Fell will sort it out, don’t worry about it. Bit of a shit way to start the day.”

He peeled off two twenty pound notes from his money clip and held it out “Thanks…..for being kind to a complete stranger then, and the tshirt.”

She blushed but took the money “Oh I never even asked your name!”

“Crowley, Anthony J Crowley at your service” he tilted the brim of his imaginary hat cheekily at her, she smiled and nodded in reply.

He rose, carefully “Right, gotta crack on. Was nice to meet you Beth, bloody good coffee. Might just come back.”

He hoisted the still damp jacket over his shoulders with a wince at the movement of his chest and turned to the young woman.

“Tell him thanks, the Doctor said it would have been much worse. So, yeah.”

Beth watched him go until her manager came up next to her “Oh My God Beth!! What the hell?”

“Well Julia, do I have the story for you….”  
  
***************************************

Having missed his scheduled train, Aziraphale called his assistant to let him know.

“Newt? My dear boy, had a bit of a kerfuffle on the way to the train station and I’m running late. Oh no, I’m fine. Bit of a long story though, will tell you later. Can you let the Dean know I will be late?

Oh thankyou Newt, yes tell Anathema I will be late to see her this evening too.”

The next train arrived eventually, and he waited until he was settled in his seat, before pondering the mornings unexpected events.

His brain had taken a snapshot image of the man laid out bare in front of him, which it annoying kept replaying every time he tried to think of something else. Yes, it had been quite some time since he had the opportunity to undress another man, and never one as devastatingly attractive as the poor unfortunate who had required his somewhat rusty nursing skills.  
  
Aziraphale sighed, and let his thoughts drift in idle speculation of the intriguing tattoo and what the rest of him….. it… might look like…..  
  
**************************************  
  
Crowley staggered back to his flat, fortunately it was only a short walk to Mayfair from Soho though he made a point to detour via the nearest pharmacy. Tipping a generous couple of fingers of Talisker into a Waterford tumbler, he sprawled on the black leather sofa, pulled his phone out to call his assistant.

“Yeah Hi, hey no I’m not OK. Some idiot spilled fucking peppermint tea all over me, now I’ve got a second degree burn which fucking HURTS! What? No, seen a doctor, sorted but I’m gonna take a couple of days off. No m'leg is fine. Yeah I know, Baroness Stick Up Her Bum is going to have to wait. Work out a discount for something to shut her up. Sorry love, I’m dosed to the eyeballs on painkillers, call you later.”

With a sigh, he sank down onto the sofa, replaying the mornings event in his head. How calm the guy had been, how firmly the hand on his chest held him down and that lick of heat that had darkened the bluegrey eyes had not been imagined, Crowley was certain of it.

But his professional mask had quickly slipped back into place, treating Crowley efficiently but thoroughly, given the situation. Remembering the scarf, he hauled the jacket off the corner of the sofa and pulled out a length of honey coloure tartan fabric.  
  
Cashmere and silk at a guess, his fingers encounted a discreet sewn in label - Burberry. A man with expensive taste and the pockets to indulge it. Crowley was intrigued….. he reached into the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled out the cream business card, heavy good quality cardstock, with A Z Fell printed across the top in gold foil.  
  
Underneath it said  
  
 ** _Dr Aziraphale Fell_**  
  
 _Antique Book Restorations and Appraisals_  
 _Research and Trade/Acquisition_ s

An email address and phone number. Discreet, expensive and classic. Crowley approved. His thumb caressed the texture of the card as he remembered that plump bottom lip being bitten, it was *very* biteable.  
  
FUCK! What the hell was he thinking! But he couldn’t get those dark blue eyes out of his mind….and the casual strength with which Fell had ripped his shirt open had triggered something, a simmering warmth he hadn’t felt before. It was probably too much whisky…


	2. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again, for dinner over sushi This is Crowleys POV, next chapter will be Aziraphales.

After two weeks the blisters and icky ooze finally crusted over. It hurt a lot less now, but the scabs cracked open and bled if he moved around too much. More inconvenient than anything, he followed the Doctors orders, kept it clean but covered during the day, letting it breathe at night.

It nagged at him as a reminder, he had a scarf to return, and possibly an apology to make. In his shock and pain his language abilities had devolved to swearing and curt rudeness. It was an accident, yet Aziraphale Fell ( _how do you even pronounce that anyway?)_ had treated him with nothing but kindness. Even offering to pay for his shirt he had so casually ripped open.

Pulling out the now worn business card, it had become a nightly ritual to feel the texture of it under his fingertips. He was …..nervous….about contacting Fell, anxiety chewing its way into his 3am thoughts. Rattled, uncertain, tapping the number into his phone a dozen times yet always failing to press the call button.

“Fuck it! You idiot! Pull your head out of your ass already!” grabbing his plant mister, he stalked the room, testing the soil of his bonsai plants with careful fingertips, misting the moss generously, snarling the roiling mess of his brain out as incoherent threats to the plants silently bearing witness.

 _What was even wrong with him?_ Intimately familiar with all the ways his brain was utterly fucked, this was new, and he couldn’t figure out why. Throwing himself on the sofa, sighing dramatically until even he was sick of himself, finally admitting he needed to do SOMETHING!

Pulling his laptop open, typing in Fells email address, he pondered the first hurdle, the subject line.

_Hi its the guy you threw tea over and then destroyed his favourite silk shirt?_

_Hi it’s the sexy red head you scarred for life?_

_My tailor wants to murder you?_

Finally he settled on _I have your scarf to return_ Didn’t commit him to any unreasonable expectations at all.  
  
Now the hard part, the actual email _try not to be a dick about it Crowley, the guy used a Burberry scarf as a bandage, worth over twice what your stupid shirt cost._

Dr Fell _polite and accurate, great start!_

After our unexpected encounter three weeks ago, I have your scarf to return to you. My doctor advised me that the burn would have been much worse without your very quick intervention, so I would like to invite you to dinner to say thankyou. It is healing well, you may be pleased to know.  
  
How do you feel about sushi?  
  
I’m free until the 17th, evenings would suit me best.  
  
Regards and thanks again  
  
Anthony J. Crowley  
  
Ignoring the fact his hand was trembling slightly with nerves, he pressed SEND, downing the remaining whisky in his tumbler in one burning mouthful.  
  
 _Well, fuck, now I have to wait for a reply! Should have bloody called, fuck fuck fuck._

Crowleys anxiety weasels were already rampaging through his brain, so he took a sleeping pill. It made him groggy and fuzzy the next day, but it was way better than the alternative.  
  
Surprisingly the next morning there was a reply:  
  
 _Anthony, my dear boy  
  
I am delighted to hear you are healing well, I rudely left without your contact details, but rest assured I have thought about you every day.  
  
No need for thanks, I still owe you for that gorgeous shirt I damaged so frivolously. I adore sushi!  
  
Evenings also suit me, I’m available either 16/17th  
  
Regards_

_Aziraphale (no need for the Dr Fell business)_

Crowley blinked sleep crusted eyes, reading the email three more times. Either the guy was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide, or it was a rather unsubtle come on. _Having never met anyone his age who was dreadfully polite and quite old fashioned, that option never occurred to Crowley.  
  
_ Shrugging, it would be an entertaining evening regardless, checking his calendar he frowned. The 16th was out, he had a late appointment that would run over time. Bugger, he also had an early flight to Italy on the 18th, still good reason to leave early if he needed it.

Opening up the website for his favourite Japanese place (only a couple blocks away) he made a reservation for two at 7pm. It was confirmed while he was in the shower, enjoying his first coffee of the day, he rattled off a reply.  
  
 _Aziraphale (please tell me how to properly pronounce that when we meet!)_

_Reservation for two at Ikeda 7pm on the 17 th._

_Alright if I meet you there?_

_AJC_

Yeah yeah, hip cool and casual all the way _who the fuck are you kidding mate?_ He waited all day for a reply, which eventually arrived late in the day.

_Good evening.  
  
Excellent choice Anthony, one of my favourite sushi places to dine. Yes, I will meet you there, it’s a pleasant stroll from my flat.  
  
Yours_

_Aziraphale (its not as bad as it looks, promise)_

Just like that, he ….. had a date? Maybe?  
  
Three days to wait while the anxiety weasels played all sorts of worst case scenarios in his head, leaving him short tempered, hung over and on the night of the dinner, tossing his wardrobe all over the fucking bed, trying to decide what to wear.  
  
Which particular combination of black on black on black would fully portray _Yeah thanks for not leaving me screaming in pain on the street, the smell of your cologne lingers in the scarf, I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me for a moment, it scares me a lot and I have no idea what I’m fucking doing!!!  
  
_

His second best black jeans, black shirt with a subtle shimmery pattern open to show off his throat, dark red brocade waistcoat cut very modern and deep, black velvet blazer, topped off with his beloved long black leather trenchcoat. The one from Spain with buttery soft heavy grade leather that kept him warm. Topped off with a whisperlight black merino silk scarf he picked up in New Zealand, and black leather driving gloves, he was armoured for battle.

Finally he slid on his RM Williams boots, black with red highlights that offered decent grip on an icy London pavement. Admiring himself in the full length mirror in the bathroom, he nodded. Classy, edgy and expensive. _I can work with that._

Ikeda was only a brisk 10 minute walk from his Mayfair flat, not wanting to arrive breathless or late, he allowed a generous 20 minutes, but spotted a familiar head of blond hair already seated at the table as he hung up his jacket.

He bowed a polite bow to the Maitre’d who responded in kind, murmuring politely in Japanese “Welcome Mr Crowley, your dinner guest has arrived. How nice to see you again”

“Thankyou Emiko, it is delightful to return.” He responded in the same language.

With a demure smile she waved him to his table, doing his best casual saunter, stopping next to the table where his dinner guest was immersed in reading a rather old book.

“Dr Fell, I presume?” A pair of steely blue eyes stared up at him for a moment, baffled no doubt by the dark sunglasses he was wearing inside.  
  
Shoving his hand out “Anthony J. Crowley at your service” he drawled.

Taking off his reading glasses, Fell rose calmly, shaking his hand with a firm grip “Aziraphale” he enunciated slowly and clearly “Aziraphale Fell, delighted to make your acquaintance…..” he trailed off uncertainly.  
  
Smirking Crowley assembled his limbs vaguely in his seat, more politely than his usual sprawl. His time living in Japan had taught him the value of some social etiquette “For the second time?”

A faint blush rose in the pale cheeks, but blue eyes twinkled wickedly at him “Actually I was thinking that it was delightful to make your acquaintance while you are vertical and not soaking wet.”

_Holy fuck, was that an invitation or what?_

He decided to fight back just enough “And not half naked and screaming in pain? Another time maybe?” Those blue eyes opened a fraction wider, the adorable blush making its way across delicate cheeks.

Breaking eye contact, Crowley reached for a menu “Have you eaten here before?”

Aziraphale took time to tuck the book away into a leather satchel, reach for his own menu, peruse it for a long moment.  
  
“Yes several times, but not for a while. What do you recommend?”

Black shoulders shrugged “The Premium Sushi and Sashimi platters are excellent, but everything is good.”

“Sake?”

“Some of the cold ones are exquisite, one in particular pairs well with the sushi.”

The blond sat back in his chair, removing his reading glasses and languidly waved a hand “By all means, dear boy, please, order for us both.”

Crowley caught the waiters eye and in slow clear Japanese, ordered for them both. To his surprise, Aziraphale bowed his head a fraction, murmuring “Domo arigato”

“You speak Japanese?”queried Crowley and Aziraphale huffed a laugh.

“Hardly at all dear boy, just enough to be polite. It’s a difficult language to learn without full immersion.”

Remembering the challenges in his first few months Crowley nodded in agreement “Even then its still difficult. Speaking it is very different from reading it.”

“How long did you live there?”

“Almost a couple of years. Have you visited?”

***********************************************

Just like that they settled into comfortable conversation, covering off all the places they had visited, languages they both spoke. Both were well travelled but in different directions.

Covertly behind the façade of his sunglasses, Crowley studied the man sitting opposite. Obviously well educated, impeccably turned out in a biscuit coloured v-neck jersey, crisp white shirt, pale blue silk ascot tucked discreetly behind the one opened button, tailored tan pants and he was going to guess at brogues of some kind. Everything was the finest quality, that understated elegance that can only be achieved by the combination of a personal tailor and a lot of money.

Yet the man wearing the clothes was an enigma. Educated, eloquent, a cultured accent, well travelled, obviously wealthy, no jewellery except for what looked like a gold signet ring on his right pinky finger. His speech patterns were polite, a touch old fashioned even but he spoke easily, laughed lightly and well manicured hands gestured freely.

Crowley was so lost in his thoughts that he realised an expectant silence had been hanging across the table, a pair of shrewd blue eyes taking their own measure of him.

“Shit! Sorry, lost my train of thought. Bloody rude, sorry.”

Those eyes lingered for a moment longer, then Fell pushed a tiny porcelain sake cup towards him “Perhaps a toast?”

Crowley picked up the cup carefully and raised it “To my Guardian Angel, Aziraphale. Kampai!”

Fell twitched and stared at him before replying carefully “Kampai” they clinked cups and then sipped.

Crowley sat back pondering then asked casually “What did I say?”

Blue eyes met his questioningly “Hmm?”

“You twitched when I said Guardian Angel. Why?”

God his face was so expressive, several different emotions Crowley couldn’t identify flickered across it before settling on possibly …pensive?  
  
“Are you religious at all Anthony?”

“God no, and just Crowley please. Anthony is for my clients, not friends.” That won him a smile and a nod.  
  
“Are you familiar at all with the story of Eden? Adam and Eve?”

“The Serpent and the Apple? Yes as a matter of fact I am.” _Intimately marked on his skin in fact, maybe you will get a chance to see it…_

“Well Eden had four guardian angels guarding the wall around the garden, and the name of the Guardian of the East was…. Aziraphale”

Crowley burst out laughing “Oh fuck, no wonder you looked so surprised! My Doctor told me a Guardian Angel must have been looking out for me, or the burn could have been a lot worse!”

That won him a genuine smile, blue eyes sparkling back at him “Oh dear boy, considering it was my fault..” but Crowley shushed him with a wave of a black tipped hand.

“Accident, bygones. You didn’t have to stay and help, but you did. Be right as rain soon. Oh, that reminds me.”

He rose, wove his way through the tables to where his jacket hung, retrieving the carefully wrapped parcel from a pocket, retraced his steps, collapsing into his seat. Carefully he placed it in front of Fell

“Thankyou…..angel”

Again with that assessing gaze, while nimble fingers unwrapped the layers of tissue to reveal his favourite Burberry scarf, obviously carefully washed and pressed. Aziraphale smiled another brilliant smile at him.

“Oh thankyou Crowley, that’s very kind of you.”

An eloquent shrug from black clad shoulders “Least I could do, sorry your handkerchief didn’t make it though.”

That won him a giggle and a hand pressed to fawn wool, while Aziraphale declaimed theatrically “Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die” He paused “I have other handkerchiefs, but his sacrifice was in a good cause.”

“Did you just quote Hamlet at me, angel?” Crowley snarked back at him.

“Angel?” _oh that head tilt and utterly innocent fluttering of blue eyes is going to be his undoing_

“Well, and I’m going to mangle this, Aziraphale is a bit of a mouthful, yeah? D’you mind? Plus you’ve got that whole angelic thing going on…” he flicked his fingers to encompass the other mans existence.

Something complicated flickered in those blue eyes, and the smile in response was a little tentative but the blond replied “If you are ‘Just Crowley’, perhaps I can be ‘Angel’ and yes, I did quote Hamlet at you, is that a problem?”

Crowley sighed dramatically and slumped down in his chair “Please not the depressing Shakespeare, I like the funny ones.”

That brightened up the book scholar immediately, Crowley suspected he was about to be subjected to an extensive lecture on Shakespeare, but fortunately they were interrupted by the arrival of two large platters. Sushi for two on one, Sashimi for two on the other. Various small bowls of sauces, dips, condiments and rice were left.

Crowley got his phone out, took a few snaps of the very artistically arranged meal, a worthy addition to his professional Instagram feed. Quickly loaded up the image, a few tags and posted it. Aziraphale looked puzzled so Crowley said casually “For the Gram.” Blond eyebrows frowned at him in puzzlement.

“Instagram? Social media?” Crowley waved his phone at him.

“Oh yes, no I’m not on it myself. Never seen the point.”

“No social media at all? Like no Facebook or anything?”

Reaching to place delectable slices of fresh fish on his plate, Aziraphale shrugged “I barely cope with email dear boy. I only got a cellphone last year in fact.”

Crowley nearly choked on his mouthful of sushi “You what?”

Aziraphale paused in his selection of the choicest morsels “Anathema made me get one.” He spoke the words calmly as if they made sense to him, but Crowley was completely baffled.

He lost track of the conversation at that point, watching in fascination as Aziraphale carefully assembled his dinner with ritualised precision. A selection of each of the sashimi placed delicately on his plate, sauces and dips arranged in a tidy row, napkin fussily placed on his lap.

The blond closed his eyes, as if in prayer, opened them and bloody wiggled in his seat like an excited toddler, chose a plump slice of salmon, dipped it in soy sauce and reverently placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly. What Crowley wasn’t expecting was the almost orgasmic moan of delight as the salmon was savoured and swallowed.

Frozen in shock, jaw hanging open unnoticed, Crowley watched and listened in amazement. Never had he seen *anyone* literally enjoy food as much as Aziraphale was, and certainly not in public. Not like that. It was loud enough the other diners were shooting them filthy looks.

So immersed in his enjoyment was Aziraphale, he appeared oblivious to anything except the food. Crowley had no idea how to address the issue, he could see even the wait staff were uncomfortable now, and then he heard a childs voice in Japanese say,

“Is the man sick okaasan? Is the food making him sick?” Clearly embarrassed the mother soothed the child but the damage was done.

“Aziraphale!”

Dabbing his lips tidily with the napkin “Yes, dear boy?”

Crowley ran his hand nervously through his hair before venturing carefully “Do you normally eat alone?”

A sip of sake “Usually, why?”

_Right there isn’t really any way to say this politely so lets go all in_

“Umm…. are you aware that you moan like someone is two fingers, knuckle deep inside you when you eat?”

Aziraphale froze as he processed the sentence, with *all* its meanings and went white in shock. Crowley sat forward, reached out and touched his hand briefly.

“Hey, its okay, giving me all sorts of ideas of places to take you. But, well, its culturally quite offensive here, in a Japanese restaurant.” He paused “Where children can hear you.”

Aziraphale went even paler, then glanced over his shoulder, looking at the eyes turned in their direction and blushed a flaming red and began to stammer an apology, making as if to leave.

“Shit, look sorry. Stay please, don’t go” Crowley reached out and grasped Aziraphales forearm lightly but firmly “Just wait, please Aziraphale? Let me deal with it?”

A pause, a nod and a frown. Crowley rose, made his way to the bar and ordered a couple of shots of whisky for their table, wended his way across the room to the front desk and apologised to the staff, who politely bowed in reply. He stopped by the table with the child, and apologised to the parents, explaining slowly that the nice man was very happy with his food.

He pulled faces at the child until all was tentative smiles, then sank with a sigh back in his chair, nodding in thanks as the whisky was efficiently delivered to their table. As the waiter turned to go, Aziraphale said quietly,

“Please charge all your other guests meals to my table if you will? An apology for my poor manners.” The waiters eyes widened, he looked at Crowley for confirmation who shrugged and nodded. With a nod and a quiet “Arigato” the waiter whisked off.

Taking a healthy swig of his whisky, Aziraphale shuddered at the sharp burn “Don’t worry, dear boy, I can afford it.”

“You used a five hundred pound Burberry scarf as a bandage, and abandoned it without even getting my name or phone number. Yeah, kinda figured that, actually.”

He resumed eating, and nodded to the other man to continue as well, who did so rather selfconciously so Crowley continued,

“Willing to bet your shoes are even hand made.”

_Aha a smile, keep talking, distract him_

It was a shame to see Aziraphale eating so quickly and tensely where before he had been utterly immersed in the experience, so Crowley chattered to fill the gap.

“It’s my job to know these things, I’m a stylist, fashion, design, décor and so on. I dress people and buildings in the latest fashions. Very exclusive and extremely expensive. In fact I’m off to Italy tomorrow to source the perfect marble for a clients bathroom.”

“Should I have heard of you?”

A casual shrug “Maybe? Been featured in quite a few posh magazines. Lots of celebs and a few royals hire me. Did I mention I’m very expensive?”

Shrewd blue eyes gave him the once over “Well you certainly look it….”

Crowley stretched and preened artistically before putting on his most camp voice “One does ones best, dahhhhling boy.”

_Ah there was a hint of twinkle back in those eyes_

“Oh dear lord! I hope you don’t talk to your clients like that?”

With a wicked grin Crowley leaned forward conspiratorially “Actually for a couple I do. They want the gay man designer stereotype. I charge them extra for it!”

_A slight widening of the eyes, perhaps a suspicion confirmed?_

Aziraphale sat back, more relaxed, sipping the last of his whisky “Ah yes, I believe they refer to that as the Arsehole Tax?”

Crowley blinked and burst out laughing “Did you just actually say that? Bloody hell that is the most appalling pun!”

*************************************

With that, the ice was definitely broken, they both relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the dinner, lingering late. Aziraphale insisted on paying the substantial bill, including their dinner, and they strode out into the evening chill.  
  
Hands shoved in pockets, they walked slowly, enjoying the camaraderie of the evening, which Crowley was loathe to break but he felt it necessary.  
  
“Hey, sorry about what I said before, it was a bit crass. A lot crass actually. You deserved better than that.”

They walked on through a loaded silence until Aziraphale stopped with a sigh “Its kind of you to apologise Anthony, but I fear the fault is all mine. No one has ever mentioned …..anything…. before, but it explains a few things. Thankyou for being honest with me.”

The silence got thicker as they gazed at each other, breath steaming in the cold night air “Angel. Aziraphale, I would never lie to you. Promise.” Said softly but with conviction.

As the moment stretched into awkwardness, Aziraphale smiled and shrugged “You have an early flight if I remember correctly. Perhaps we can do lunch when you get back?”

“Technically I still owe you a dinner. That reminds me” Crowley pulled out his phone and tapped open his Contacts “Whats your number?” and stored it away as Aziraphale rattled it off.  
  
“I’ll send you a text, then you’ll have mine. Be back later next week?”

“Safe travels, dear boy.” They shook hands and parted on their separate ways.

***************************************

Three days later he woke to find a text message from Angel:

_Oh I hope I am doing this right. Is Italy treating you well? They have some delicious Pinot Grigio in the Carrara region that I can recommend if your taste in wine is as good as your taste in clothing. Looking forward to lunch. Travel well._   
  
_Regards_

_Aziraphale_

Good god! Proper sentences and punctuation in a text message. How very….him… it was.

_He made a point of hunting down some wine and bought back a case. It was very drinkable, better with company he suspected. He looked forward to finding out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal take on the whole Aziraphale eating food thing is that its actually incredibly rude to sound like you are having sex with your food in public. In private do what you like, but yeah, Im going to call him out on it.


	3. Too Good To Be True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, this is Aziraphales POV starting from when he finally gets on the train to Oxford after encountering our favourite red headed bad boy.
> 
> Personally I really struggle to hear Aziraphales voice, and in writing this I have channeled some of my own personal experiences of toxic family relationships, depression and anxiety.
> 
> I'm writing the inner voice commentary in italics so that there is more depth and context for actions taken, decisions made (or not made), because humans are flawed complex creatures, and emotions fuck us up nearly as much as brain chemistry does.

Aziraphale hated being late, he was perpetually early for every appointment. Being late for a meeting with the Dean at Oxford was even more irritating, he fretted about it so much he almost forgot to review his notes for the upcoming meeting.

Deep in thought, he pushed his way through the other commuters. Normally the walk to the University didn’t bother him, but having missed the fast train, he was now an hour late. Hence he didn’t hear his name being called until a tap on the shoulder bought his attention to his panting assistant, Newt.

“Dr Fell, there you are! Bought the car to collect you” Newt said breathlessly, having chased him across the platform.

Blinking, Aziraphale’s brain eventually changed gear, registering the words “Newt, oh thankyou dear boy. How kind. Lead on, lead on.”

While it was always an interesting experience travelling in Newts rather odd vehicle, speeding was never an issue, though it was faster than walking.

Graciously, the Dean had rearranged his schedule, was very understanding when the need to render emergency medical assistance was explained, a medicinal brandy was offered and accepted. Newt had managed to rearrange his schedule at the cost of his lunchbreak, providing average pasta takeout to fill the growling complaints of his stomach. 

After a relentless day of meetings, consultations and trying bureaucracy Aziraphale staggered into Anathema’s lab, giving her his best pleading puppy dog eyes.   
  
“Ana, dearest darling girl, I need a very large wine. Let me steal you away for dinner?”

Large brown eyes gazed at him behind her trademark oversize spectacles “Dr F you look exhausted! Of course, let me get my things.”

She locked up and they wandered to the Ashmolean Rooftop restaurant. The views were lovely, the food was acceptable, but best of all, it was nearby.

Seated by the window, wine duly poured, Aziraphale sighed and finally began to let go of the stresses of the day. Anathema was his American graduate student, researching new ways of preserving fragile historical documents. His expertise in the materials used at the time were of significant value to her research. He had been loathe to take on another student, but her irreverent cheerful attitude coupled with enthusiasm and a rather novel approach to her techniques had bonded the pair of them.

Friends were something Aziraphale didn’t have many of, he found it difficult to meet new people. His family had mocked him for his looks, wardrobe, life choices and anything else they could thing of at every possible opportunity. It made him nervous, self-conscious and always feeling like he didn’t quite fit in.

Anathema (Ana to her friends) had struggled to settle in culturally, feeling isolated and frustrated she had chivvied Dr F (as she called him) out for tea and cakes, then eventually lunch, and occasionally dinner. After three years they were firm friends and enjoyed their comfortable chats. She had learned a great deal about food and wine, and he had unwillingly been bought up to speed with the technology he had resisted for so long.

She swirled the wine in her glass, savouring the aroma, a German Riesling, dry and aromatic “So how did your meeting with the Dean go?”

“Oh fine, eventually. I was over an hour late my dear, its been a hell of a day, actually.”

Ana put her wine down and her fine dark eyes stared at him “Language Dr F! What happened?”

He waved for the waiter, this was going to require more wine “Well my dear……” he began to lay out the events of the morning.

Enthralled, she tackled her Chicken Liver Parfait entrée “You have no idea who this guy was, didn’t get his name or anything?”

Mechanically he ate his way through his own Parfait, normally it would have excited his tastebuds, but he was too exhausted to do anything except refuel his body.

“Mysterious red headed stranger, with interesting tattoos and a very profane vocabulary, that’s all I can tell you.” He smiled tiredly at her “I do hope he is alright, my tea was *very* hot and burns are most unpleasant.”

“But he has your card?”

Forking up some fettucine carbonara he smiled “Yes but I don’t expect to hear from him. Or see that scarf ever again. Shame, it was my favourite.”

**********************************************  
  
His November schedule was unreasonably busy, closing out projects before the holidays, signing off on student work, attending seminars, speaking at events. Newt was hard pressed to organise flights and accommodation until in desperation Aziraphale announced “Enough! No more appointments! I’m taking all of December off. It is my birthday after all.”

Rarely did he get so assertive, Newt nodded, scribbling a note in his diary “Well you hadn’t accepted any events for December, and most people will be away for the holidays. Might as well take January as well?”

Aziraphale smiled fondly at his assistant, Newt had scraped through a Degree in Computing, but his ability to set computer hardware on fire at random intervals had limited his job opportunities. Anathema had pointed him in Aziraphale’s direction, telling him very clearly that he needed to be more organised. Newt needed a job, oddly they had fitted well together.

Having someone else taking care of the day to day issues left him free to pursue his studies and research, Newt made sure he got where he needed to go, when he needed to be there. Newt was patient with bureaucratic tangles and made friends easily. People liked him, he was charming like a gangly puppy, eager to please.

“If I move a couple things around, you can have the last week in November free as well, but it will mean flying back from Germany on the Sunday?”

“Make it Monday afternoon, give me time for some shopping.” 

“Let me revise your schedule and email you the details Dr F” Newt paused “You should have an early night too, you look knackered.”

Wearily Aziraphale smiled “Thankyou Newt, I’m not quite ready to be made into glue yet.”

_Newt hadn’t told him about the three rude messages from Gabriel, he and Ana both knew how troubled Dr F was by his family. It got particularly bad around Christmas, with his birthday being so close. Newt often wondered how such a kind man had such truly awful relatives, and why he put up with them._

***********************************************  
Four whole days uninterrupted at the bookshop to look forward to, Aziraphale sighed with relief to be back in his favourite space, where the peace and serenity of his books nurtured his soul. He loved his profession, adored teaching and speaking, but oh how he hated having to socialise with people. Pointless small talk about subjects he often knew little about, sport, gossip, celebrities. It was so tiring, his face sore from smiling, feet aching from being on them all day, headache from all the clamour.

It was blissful to lie in his claw foot bath, the old fashioned kind you could properly soak in. Quiet jazz on in the background, a glass of chunky Australian Shiraz at hand, he laid his head back on the cool enamel and sighed.

He should retire. God knows he didn’t need to work ever again, but without a purpose, he felt lost. It was important to have connections to the rest of the world, tenuous though his were. It would be too easy for him to retreat into the pages of his precious books, Aziraphale didn’t want that for himself. He had seen how easily one could become bitter, isolated when you were older and alone.

Eventually the demands of his stomach pulled him from the seductive embrace of hot water, dressed in comfy loose loungewear he assembled a platter of nibbles from what remained in the fridge, too late to get a takeaway now.

Nibbling on cheese and crackers his phone dinged “Check your EMAILS!”. Ah yes, the nightly reminder Anathema had programmed into his phone. Notorious for losing complete track of time anytime he sat down with a book, they had negotiated a compromise. She would program a reminder once a day, in the evening, and he would duly check his emails.

It was usually work correspondence, a few personal emails from other book historians, but tonight was something unexpected:

**From:** [ **ajc@dark-angel-enterprises.co.uk** ](mailto:ajc@dark-angel-enterprises.co.uk)

**Subject: I have your scarf to return**

**Dr Fell**

**After our unexpected encounter three weeks ago, I have your scarf to return to you. My doctor advised me that the burn would have been much worse without your very quick intervention, so I would like to invite you to dinner to say thankyou. It is healing well, you may be pleased to know.  
  
How do you feel about sushi?  
  
I’m free until the 17th, evenings would suit me best.  
  
Regards and thanks again  
  
Anthony J. Crowley**

Well!......that was…..unexpected! Remarkably polite, given the impressive vocabulary of profanity that this….Anthony had demonstrated.

_Yet the shirt he had been wearing was high quality, likely custom tailored. His fingertips remembered the texture of pale freckled skin, taut with pain but also lean muscle. The low gravelly voice had murmured that one sentence that still haunted him, made him ……look…..see the man, not just the patient. **  
  
**_

He typed his reply, regretting the third glass of wine and his tired state when he recalled it the next morning, but the response was casually positive. It had been months since his last meal at Ikeda, carefully he programmed the appointment into his phone, that way Newt was kept advised as well.

Now to wait for three days……..he would chew his bottom lip to shreds with worry. Plus he had forgotten to refill his medication prescription again, another thing for Ana to program into his phone.

*******************************************

It was nerves that made him early for every appointment, endless possibilities of what could go wrong between him getting from Point A to Point B. Newt often despaired of Aziraphales inability to say no to anyone, hence the reason his calendar was so hectic.

Despite the rather undiluted evidence of daily life, Aziraphale clung to his own personal notions of how the world should be. Partly due to his overly religious upbringing, he believed that if one was kind and good to people, they would respond appropriately. Confrontation terrified him, he did everything he could to make people happy, often at the expense of his own personal well being.

So, he was early for every appointment, then sat quietly fretting when everyone else was late. Would this Crowley even turn up? Aziraphale was still bemused as to why he had even wanted to thank the person responsible for injuring him.

Fortunately books were his solace, with one in his hands he could easily retreat from the stresses of the world. When a dark voice growled “Dr Fell, I presume?” it took him a moment to codeswitch his brain from book mode to ‘functioning in the real world mode’. 

Politeness drew him to his feet, introducing himself automatically, stunned by the vibrant magnetic presence of the man. It startled him into some unexpectedly honest comments, but the smile and the repartee in response settled his nerves _you can do this, you can do this, just social chatter, enjoy the meal._

He wasn’t sure at all about the sunglasses thing, perhaps a fashion statement? Maybe photophobia?

As they chatted, with surprising ease, Crowley confused him more and more. Obviously well travelled, educated, incredible fashion sense, apparently comfortable financially, absolutely gorgeous, charismatic, a dry biting sense of humour and that voice that sent shivers down Aziraphales spine. Why on earth was he here, dining with a middle aged book historian?

He let Crowley make the important decisions about food and drinks, too often he was paralysed by so many options he found it difficult to choose. Aziraphale found eating with other people a daunting experience, except for friends like Anathema, who…..understood his funny ways.

The sake arrived, he poured into the tiny cups and said to Crowley who had gone silent for a long moment “Sake?” and he waited expectantly,

Crowley stirred, as the silence drew out “Shit! Sorry, lost my train of thought. Bloody rude, sorry.”

_What was he thinking, hiding behind the sunglasses?_ Aziraphale pushed a tiny porcelain sake cup towards him “Perhaps a toast?”

Crowley picked up the cup carefully and raised it “To my Guardian Angel, Aziraphale. Kampai!”

_Guardian Angel!?! What does he mean?_ Confused, Aziraphale replied after a pause “Kampai” they clinked cups and then sipped.

Crowley sat back asking casually “What did I say?”

“Hmm?”

“You twitched when I said Guardian Angel. Why?”

_Is he mocking me? Is this just a joke? But no one has ever heard of my name, how could he possibly know?_  
  
“Are you religious at all Anthony?”

“God no, and just Crowley please. Anthony is for my clients, not friends.”

…. _Friends? Smile and nod and assume nothing  
_  
“Are you familiar at all with the story of Eden? Adam and Eve?”

“The Serpent and the Apple? Yes, as a matter of fact I am.”

“Well Eden had four guardian angels guarding the wall around the garden, and the name of the Guardian of the East was…. Aziraphale”

Crowley burst out laughing “Oh fuck, no wonder you looked so surprised! My Doctor told me a Guardian Angel must have been looking out for me, or the burn could have been a lot worse!”

_Relief! He didn’t know!_ “Oh dear boy, considering it was my fault..” but Crowley shushed him with a wave of a black tipped hand.

“Accident, bygones. You didn’t have to stay and help, but you did. Be right as rain soon. Oh, that reminds me.”

He rose, wove his way through the tables to where his jacket hung, retrieving the carefully wrapped parcel from a pocket, retraced his steps, collapsing into his seat. Carefully he placed it in front of Fell

“Thankyou…..angel”

_Why is he calling me angel? Whats his game?_ But when he assessed the other man, there seemed to be no malice in his intent, perhaps its just his way? _And he returned your favourite scarf! Smile you ungrateful idiot!_

“Oh thankyou Crowley, that’s very kind of you.”

An eloquent shrug from black clad shoulders “Least I could do, sorry your handkerchief didn’t make it though.”

Aziraphale declaimed theatrically “Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die” He paused “I have other handkerchiefs, but his sacrifice was in a good cause.”

“Did you just quote Hamlet at me, angel?” Crowley snarked back at him.

He tilted his head in curiosity, asking “Angel?”

“Well, and I’m going to mangle this, Aziraphale is a bit of a mouthful, yeah? D’you mind? Plus you’ve got that whole angelic thing going on…”

_He thinks I’m angelic? A middle aged professor of obscure historical books, too fond of food and wine, a disappointment to his family. No one had ever given him a ‘nickname’ before, not a kind one, anyway….be brave for once in your life…_

“If you are ‘Just Crowley’, perhaps I can be ‘Angel’ and yes, I did quote Hamlet at you, is that a problem?”

Crowley sighed dramatically and slumped down in his chair “Please not the depressing Shakespeare, I like the funny ones.”

**************************************

It was going too well, they were laughing and chatting like old friends, and Aziraphale let himself relax, actually began to enjoy himself. He got comfortable, and then of course, it all went wrong.

The trauma of his parents dying in a car accident in his childhood was one thing, the two years he had spent living with his uncle’s family ( being bullied mercilessly by his cousins) was another thing. One therapist had commented that his relationship with food was unusual but not unhealthy.

When you are a child who has no control over their life, and very little joy in it, you might learn to wring every last drop of pleasure out of any good thing that may come along. For Aziraphale it was books and food. He was aware his relationship with food was a little different to other peoples, but no one had ever commented so blatantly before.

“Aziraphale!”

Dabbing his lips tidily with the napkin “Yes, dear boy?”

Crowley ran his hand nervously through his hair before venturing carefully “Do you normally eat alone?”

A sip of sake “Usually, why?”

_Crowley seemed nervous…..uncomfortable, shifting forward in his seat_

“Umm…. are you aware that you moan like someone is two fingers, knuckle deep inside you when you eat?”

Aziraphale froze as he processed the sentence, feeling the blood drain from his face, as the shakes began to set in. _Oh no no no no!_

Crowley sat forward, reached out and touched his hand briefly.

“Hey, its okay, giving me all sorts of ideas of places to take you. But, well, its culturally quite offensive here, in a Japanese restaurant.” He paused “Where children can hear you.”

_Was it possible he might faint from embarrassment?_ A quick glance over his shoulder showed most of the patrons and staff were looking in their direction, abruptly the blood returned in a hot rush, and he pushed back his chair “Oh god, sorry, I must, sorry, leave, so rude!

“Shit, look sorry. Stay please, don’t go” Crowley reached out and grasped his forearm lightly but firmly “Just wait, please Aziraphale? Let me deal with it?”

He froze, watchful, waiting for the axe to fall, but all he saw was genuine concern, and the warm touch grounded him, bought him back to himself. So reluctantly he stayed, while Crowley worked the room.  
  
Offering to pay for all the other patrons meals felt like the least he could do, grateful for the whisky Crowley had ordered, letting the fire and burn of it anchor himself in the moment more.

Slowly, carefully they eased back into the evening, Crowley obviously talking to cover his own silence, but the mood within the restaurant settled, he allowed the good company and excellent food to calm him.  
  
************************************  
  
Despite the little hiccup, Aziraphale had enjoyed the evening, Crowley was an engaging dinner companion, no hardship to look at, irreverent, funny and surprisingly kind. He hadn’t needed to return Aziraphales scarf or even invite him for dinner.

So it wasn’t a great surprise when Crowley murmured “Hey, sorry about what I said before, it was a bit crass. A lot crass actually. You deserved better than that.”

Truthfully, it *was* terribly rude (quite specifically descriptive although not entirely accurate) but also typical of Crowley’s approach to things. Direct, to the point, disarmingly honest in actuality.

“Its kind of you to apologise Anthony, but I fear the fault is all mine. No one has ever mentioned …..anything…. before, but it explains a few things. Thankyou for being honest with me.”

The silence got thicker as they gazed at each other, breath steaming in the cold night air “Angel. Aziraphale, I would never lie to you. Promise.” Crowley said it softly but with conviction.

As the moment stretched into awkwardness, Aziraphale smiled and shrugged “You have an early flight if I remember correctly. Perhaps we can do lunch when you get back?”

“Technically I still owe you a dinner. That reminds me” Crowley pulled out his phone and tapped open his Contacts “Whats your number?” and stored it away as Aziraphale eventually remembered what it was.  
  
“I’ll send you a text, then you’ll have mine. Be back later next week?”

“Safe travels, dear boy.” A black leather gloved hand shook a tan leather gloved hand, but Aziraphale could feel the warmth of the other man through both layers of leather. He smiled in his sleep that night.

**************************************

Newt had worked wonders with his calendar, and he was free from the 27th November onwards. Spending the last four day at Oxford to close out his last appointments but left the last afternoon free to take Anathema out for a long lunch at her favourite pub on the river.

It was the only place that did a decent burger, according to her American standards, and the steak was pretty good. The chef knew his way around the proper way to cook an eye fillet medium rare. The dessert selection was also very good, so they dispensed with entrees to make room for cheesecake.

“Are you going home for the holidays my dear?” and she sighed, took of her black framed glasses, rubbing circles at her temples. Today her long dark hair was loosely tied back in a bun, Ana called it her ‘sexy librarian look’.

“Yeah, Mom is mad I didn’t come home for Thanksgiving, so I’m going to hers for a week and then Dad’s for a week”

“Ah yes, the joys of the modern family, still you will have snow and sunshine on your holiday”

“Oh I love packing for California and Denver in winter in one suitcase!” She drained her champagne, querying idly,

“And you Dr F? Going home for Christmas?” _I bloody hope not, they treat you like shit._

But he appeared to be lost in thought “What? No, not this year.” He was scrunching his napkin nervously between both hands, a sign something was bothering him.

She topped up her glass and his from the bottle in the ice bucket next to their table, but Dr F barely noticed. Concerned Ana reached out, touching his hand “Are you okay, Dr F?”

He sighed, looking a little defeated “Can I ask you something? Something personal?”

“Of course Dr F, god knows you have been my shoulder to cry on often enough. How can I help?”

_Oh he’s biting his lip, this isn’t good…_

There was a long silence “Am I…..embarrassing to dine with Anathema?”

_Oh no, did someone say something???_

“How so Dr F?” _Not going to hurt his feelings, he has so little self esteem already_

“I had dinner with ……someone…. recently, and they commented, a little rudely, that I make….certain sounds when I eat. It was quite embarrassing.”

_Who the hell is SOMEONE?? Hurting my Dr F’s feelings???_

“I wasn’t aware I was doing it, and wondered how long it had been going on?”

_Well how do you answer that question with truth that doesn’t crush him_

“You certainly….. enjoy…. your food, Dr F, but there is no harm in that.” She took a fortifying sip of champagne and nearly sprayed it across the table at his next question.

“Do I sound like I’m having sex when I eat?”

She inhaled the mouthful of wine, coughing it down in surprise, washing it down with water until she got her breathing under control.

He was smiling at her a little, she knew that blue eyed twinkle of the bastard he so very rarely let anyone see, so she rallied.

“Don’t know Dr F, I’ve never heard you having sex as far as I know, wouldn’t like to judge!”

Saved by their meals being delivered from further revelations about her professor’s sexual activities, the conversation evolved into shop talk. She noticed his normal food worship involved more closed eyes and hums, rather than the salacious moans he was capable of, and wondered again, who this someone was.

******************************************  
  
As they walked back to the University, Anathema stopped him near a bench and sat down. She gathered her lacy skirts up off the snow covered ground, taking a moment to fuss with her clothing to give him a moment to settle and compose himself.  
  
“Look Dr F, can I say something? You do have a bit of a thing for your food, but its only one of the very many weird things that people who work here tend to do. Its part of who you are, and you shouldn’t have to apologise for that, alright? Those of us who know the real you, love you just the way you are.”

_God knows you deserve any piece of happiness you can find, particularly at this time of year._

He smiled and press her hands in his “Thankyou dear girl, wise words indeed.” He pulled a white envelope out of his pocket, handing it to her with that shy smile of his she worked so hard to earn. It was the rare genuine kind that was so raw and vulnerable it made her cry to see it.

“Merry Christmas, Anathema, don’t murder your mother when you see her, I need you back next year.”

She laughed and hugged him “You terrible man, I keep telling you I don’t need presents.”

“Nonsense, you’ve earned it. Both of you.” With that cryptic note he strode off to his offices.  
  
Anathema opened the envelope, inside were two first class open tickets to Paris, one in her name and one in Newts. Plus a weeks accommodation booked at an almost certainly fancy hotel.

Anathema began to cry, sad happy tears, for the man who had become like a father to her, but who she couldn’t quite connect all the way with. 

***************************************  
  
When Crowley emailed him a couple of days later he was uncertain. About a lot of things, if he was honest.

**I’m back in Blighty with a case of that wine you like. Lunch?  
  
AJC**

But the memory of the vibrant, funny, eloquent gorgeous man who had bravely called him out, manfully apologised and been kind to him afterwards, that stayed with him. And for some reason, Crowley wanted to spend more time with him.

Aziraphale couldn’t understand why, but he knew one thing was true. If he didn’t give this (whatever this was) a chance, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

**Crowley, how lovely to hear from you.**

**Lunch sounds delightful. Perhaps you might like to come to my shop, where we can enjoy the wine and you can tell me about Italy.**

**Yours,**

**Aziraphale**

  
  
  



	4. Getting to Know Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our lads finally meet up at the Bookshop, wine and ramblings ensue.

**Early December**

Figuring they were going to drink the wine he had tucked under one arm, Crowley rideshared instead of driving the Bentley. Of course it was fucking raining too, requiring him to dart through the rain, trying to dodge the puddles in the poorly maintained street.

Aziraphale had promised the door would be unlocked, walking through it was like emerging through the back of the wardrobe into Narnia. Somehow the bustle of the city faded, leaving the quiet hush of thousands of books, containing all their secrets and stories. Treasure waiting to be revealed to a questing reader.  
  
Ignoring the water dripping from him, Crowley closed his eyes, breathing in deep. _Aaaaaah that wonderful smell of old books, leather, paper, ink, stories, hopes, dreams and gateways to new worlds. His favourite childhood memories bought back with one sensory hit._

They say the sense of smell is the most powerful at triggering memories, Crowley stood there lost in his until a familiar voice asked with amusement “Are you okay?”

_Shit, now his glasses had fogged up_

Ungracefully Crowley stepped forward, handing the box of wine to Aziraphale “Ummm yeah, hi, hey this is for you, sorry just need a moment.” He turned away, wiping his glasses with his shirt tail, only succeeding in smearing raindrops over the front of them.

Sliding them back in place he turned with a smile “Sorry, fogged up with the rain. You…..have a LOT of books!” _His fingers twitched with the desire to delve into their secrets_

Aziraphale smiled as he surveyed the room “Yes several generations of the family collections are here for safe keeping.” He hefted the box, tucked casually under one arm “Shall we go up, fire is on, you can dry off?”

Oddly reluctant to leave the books behind, Crowley nodded, following Aziraphale up the stairs. He was looking particularly angelic today, casual tawny pants, a fine linen shirt, waistcoat in cream brocade with gold buttons and god forbid, a bow tie! His halo of white blond hair was longer, tousled and a bit wild looking, but merry blue eyes sparkled at him. _Was he happy to see him? Why given how rude he had been? Was he forgiven? The Unforgiveable?_

Treading carefully up the treacherously narrow steep stairwell to the dimly lit landing, the room behind the heavy panelled door was a surprise. One large living room took up the majority of the space, what looked like a galley kitchen at the end. To the left an original fireplace had a modern gas fire fitted into, blazing with warmth. Strains of what he thought were Mozart flowed softly through the air.  
  
Polished wooden floors glowed under expensive Aubusson rugs scattered about, fine wainscoting lined the walls, painted a comforting hunter green. Heavy brocade floor length curtains were pulled across almost all the windows. It was warm, cosy and very dimly lit. Crowley glanced around, admiring the quality of the decorating. At a guess, he thought it was probably nearly all original from when the building was built. Probably a Heritage listing at that.

Worth a bloody fortune in Soho land values as well, likely millions.  
  
Aziraphale came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses “I wasn’t sure if the glasses were a fashion choice or if you were light sensitive, so I can open the curtains if you prefer?”

Shedding his leather coat, scarf and gloves on the antique looking hatstand by the door, Crowley paused, smiled to himself.

“Actually Angel, its both. I get migraines from an old head injury, and they became a fashion statement. S’very perceptive and thoughtful, thanks.” He didn’t take his glasses off but joined the blond in front of the gas fire, lounging lazily on the sofa, unfortunately layered in tartan comforters, accepting a glass of chilled white wine. _Trying not to notice as their fingertips brush each other._

“May I ask about the circumstances of the head injury?”

Crowley waved a negligent hand “No need to be so formal. I was young and stupid, paid the price with a femur broken in two places and a pretty nasty concussion.” He shrugged “Got off lightly, all things considered.”

Aziraphale sat forward, frowning in concern “That’s two quite severe injuries, what on earth did you do?”

“Fell off the side of a building” was the laconic reply. _The horror when his fingers slipped and his stupid shoes failed to hold their grip, falling, not far enough to right himself, just far enough to nearly kill him. How many times had he wished it did?_

A pair of stern blue eyes held him hostage til he sighed “Parkour, I was doing parkour in Japan. Like I said, young and stupid.” There was no comprehension of the word, so he pulled out his phone, doing a quick search for a video, shoving in Aziraphales face “Something like this, but with a bonus trip in an ambulance and a really impressive set of scars.”

“Intramedullary nailing for a comminuted fracture. How old were you?” frowning more as he handed back the phone.

“No idea what you just said, and 25ish” _fuck he was grateful he had left his glasses on, should have kept my mouth shut about the TBI, he was a nurse, he would …..know…_

“Does it still bother you? The leg?”

_The nights the muscle cramps had him nearly screaming in agony, limping around, trying to walk off the pain, crying himself hoarse, being shouted at by the nurses for not taking pain medication._

_How sometimes the muscles just seized, that he kept a tin of massage grease handy in the flat, office, glovebox and his jacket pockets, that he partly wore the glasses so people didn’t see the lines of pain on the bad days._

“Yeah sometimes, muscles cramp up. Massage helps.”

Aziraphale did that adorable lip biting thing “Are you comfortable now? Can I bring you some more cushions?”

Crowley had tucked three large puffy cushions behind him already and eyed the fretful man “Nah’m good. Got any that aren’t tartan?” but he smiled to take the edge off it.

With a huff Aziraphale stood, heading for the kitchen “Tartan is very stylish, I’ll have you know” he said snippily.  
  
Crowley lazily stretched out on the sinfully comfortable sofa “Mmm just a very well paid style consultant, so what would I know?”

Returning with the wine bottle, Aziraphale topped off their glasses, muttering “Exactly” in a very bitchy and not at all sotto voce tone, causing Crowley to splutter a laugh at him.

“Right now we’ve settled that Angel, its pissing down outside. What did you have planned for lunch?”

Something like worry crossed the other mans features “Yes its quite dreadful outside. I could probably rustle up a platter from the fridge if you like?”

“Yeah sounds good, let me give you a hand” Crowley levered himself off the sofa, wandered into the kitchen, pulling open the tall expensive looking stainless steel fridge door (the kind with the built in water/ice dispenser).

“Holy Shit angel! Did you get all of Harrods delivered?”

Every shelf was jam packed, at least four different kinds of cheeses, various sliced meats, grapes, strawberries (in winter!), several bottles of champagne, chutneys, numerous containers with a familiar label on them. There was enough food for both of them for a week, at least.

Aziraphale blushed “Well I’m home for the holidays now, so decided to stock up. I’m not a very good cook, so being able to snack is easier for me.”

“Hmmm well I can cook, we’ve got the makings of a very fancy Ploughmans here if you’ve any bread?” Aziraphale reached into a cupboard pulling out a crusty sourdough loaf.

“Perfect, right something to arrange this lot on, and I can get started.” He rolled up his sleeves, and without thinking took his glasses off. Dark glasses and sharp knives were a bad combination.

Aziraphale bustled behind him, getting various things out of cupboards as required, eventually retrieving their wine glasses, sitting at the bar stool tucked underneath the tiny bench, watching as Crowley delicately sliced and arranged their meal. Soon a feast was laid out, a coffee table divested of its many layers of books and moved to a spot between Aziraphales leather recliner and Crowleys spot on the sofa.  
  
Silence descended broken only by the classical music, chink of cutlery on china, murmurs of ‘pass the butter’ and ‘more ham?’ until Crowley groaned, lay back with a handful of grapes, picking them off the stem with neat bites,

“So what’s the deal with this place? Yours is it?”

Settling his still loaded plate on his lap, Aziraphale sipped his wine and sighed quietly “I inherited when my Grandfather died” Anticipating the inevitable question he continued “My parents died when I was young, and he took me in. Left me everything in his will.”

Crowley sat up, squinting at him in concentration “Huh, so you’re like adopted then? Me too.” He flopped back waving a hand “Least yours was family. Not bloody fostercare.”

_Thinking of the horrific two years in the care of his Uncle, the verbal and physical abuse from his cousins, how Gabriel had enjoyed tormenting a shy traumatised orphan, until he had finally gone a step too far, putting Aziraphale in hospital with a badly broken arm. Until the boy had begged and screamed himself into a panic attack at the thought of going back, that his Grandfather had finally relented, and taken him in._

He said nothing and sipped his wine again. Crowley tilted his head at a painful looking angle “How’d they die? Your parents? S’ok to ask?”

_It was an old pain, but still had teeth to bite_ “Car accident, yours?”

“Never knew my dad. Mother died of heroin overdose when I was four” the red head shrugged “If we’re gonna talk about family stuff, then I need something stronger than wine.”

With a wry smile Aziraphale gestured to an antique drinks cabinet on the far wall “We don’t need to at all, but help yourself dear boy.”

Crowley wondered if the paternal ‘dear boy’ endearment was something he had picked up from the grandfather as he crouched to open the glossy mahogany cabinet doors. He whistled at the treasures revealed within “Expensive tastes angel, I approve. Lagavulin 16 years old, don’t mind if I do.” He poured a couple of fingers into a whisky glass, collapsed onto the sofa, one knee up with one arm hanging off it, the other stretched out as he cradled the deep amber liquid on his thigh.

A comfortable quiet settled until Crowley asked quietly “Is that why you don’t drive?” at the blond’s startled look “You walk or train everywhere, no vehicle in the alleyway out the back. Seemed like a logical conclusion.”

Relaxing his white knuckle grip on his wineglass, Aziraphale replied just as softly “Same reason you don’t take painkillers I imagine.”

Crowley couldn’t hide his flinch in response, flicking his eyes up to Aziraphale and away “How’d you know?”

“The surgery you had can do a lot of damage to the muscles, but most people would take painkillers for it, not massage. Same with the glasses, a preventative option.” He shrugged “Seems like we both have our demons that haunt us.”

Crowley seemed to have forgotten that he had taken his glasses off, and the unusual amber gold of his eyes was striking. Aziraphale felt the weight of them on him, smiled slightly and raised his glass as if to toast and Crowley twitched his in response,

“Yeah my therapist agrees with you there” and the heartfelt bitterness in his tone answered something within Aziraphale who wriggled a bit nervously before replying “We are the sum of our experiences, good and bad. It’s a shame the bad ones seem to weigh so much more. Doesn’t seem fair.”

That earned him a harsh laugh “Nothing fucking fair about life, angel. Its hard and cruel. If you are lucky you get chances and choices, and if you are really lucky, you don’t fuck it up too much along the way.”

Crowley laughed again “Wow that was bitter, maybe the whisky wasn’t a good idea after all” Sitting up he swayed a bit “Ooooh bad move.”

Aziraphale rose, went to the kitchen, coming back with a tall glass of iced water “Here drink this” Accepting the empty glass he deposited on the bench, crouched down in front of the redhead and offered the dark glasses “You might want these too?”

_Up close now he could see the gorgeous amber eyes with an intense ring of gold round the iris, and streaks of gold coming out from the pupil. Stunning and striking._

“What the fuck?”

“You took them off when you were cutting the food off, and never put them on again.” He paused and blushed a little “Seems a shame to cover up your eyes, they are ….very striking.”

_Was that a faint blush painting itself across the red heads cheeks?_

“Yeah, well thanks. Look if I stay here I’m going to fall asleep, s’very cosy. Comfy sofa even with the bloody tartan!”

A merry smile in reply “Oh dear boy, you are welcome to snooze as long as you like. I have a new Latin text to translate, your company would be delightful.”

Crowley flopped back on the sofa, pummelling cushions into submission, toeing his boots off “Yeah snoring and drooling makes for great company.”

_In fact he snuffled quite adorably while sleeping, arms and legs somehow elegantly arranged in boneless abandon. Aziraphale spent more time gazing on his sleeping shape, wondering if he liked to cuddle. From the possessive way his arms were wrapped around one cushion, Aziraphale suspected so. He did so like the feeling of waking up with a warm body firmly against his……_

_….he wanted to tangle his hands in the gorgeous hair, pulling his head back, allowing him to trace the line of Crowleys throat with kisses, he wanted to peel back that shirt and discover what the tattoos looked like, breath in that dark spicy leather and musk fragrance that clung to him, oh he wanted…._

_**********************************************  
  
It was the smell that woke Crowley, vetiver, cinnamon, orange and bergamot, a complex spicy citrus blend that very definitely wasn’t his signature scent. He would also never go to sleep with Mozart on the stereo, and where the fuck did the tartan come from?  
  
_With a “Hgnk!” he sat up, rubbing his sleep blurred eyes when a familiar voice said

“Sleep well dear boy?”

“Gngh” was the most he could manage, and a warm chuckle answered. Moments later a glass of iced water made itself known to him but before he grabbed it, Aziraphale said smugly

“You can drink it or tip it over your head, whatever you need to wake up properly.”

A couple of gulps of cold water soothed his dry throat and kickstarted his brain into waking up “Smartarse” he rasped at the delighted blond man, smirking at him “Keep that up and you will wear the rest.”

“Not a morning person then, noted. Breakfast?”

Crowley sat up, startled “Breakfast? How long did I sleep?”

“Well its just after 8 now, so about fifteen hours. You must have been exhausted.”

Running a hand through his now quite dishevelled hair, Crowley swore quietly to himself “Shit yeah, must have been.”

_Fifteen hours sleep and not one nightmare, that hadn’t happened in years. Bee will have kittens if I tell her…._  
  
“Umm, so I need to go home, shower and change and stuff, umm thanks for lunch and, well everything.”

“Nonsense, dear boy, anytime, anytime. We never did get around to drinking your wine either….”

But Crowley was struck dumb by the vision of Aziraphale in a loose pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, and buttons undone so that he could see the line of his collar bones peeking through. _Fuck fuck fuck, can I unwrap him for Christmas? Every day a piece of clothing, like an Advent calendar?_

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

“Nrgh. Still waking up. Need a shower. Coffee. God its too bloody early.” 

“Well its stopped raining, and the coffee shop round the corner will be open.”

“Yeah, Beths place. I remember, cheers” He pulled his boots on, carelessly wrapping his scarf round his neck, throwing the jacket on, before pausing halfway out the door,

“Umm, I really enjoyed myself, umm when I was conscious anyway. Do it again sometime?”

Aziraphale stepped up to hold the door open for him, and for a moment they stared at each other, a silent question being asked and possibly answered, before Aziraphale smirked at him,

“You snore quite adorably and that is some truly impressive bed hair. I guess that look isn’t for the Gram then?”

Gaping in astonishment at the absolute 100% bitch he was being handed out, Crowley allowed himself to be bustled down the stairs, across the shop, while Aziraphale unlocked the door and let the weak morning sunshine in,

“Oh dear lord, you really do need that coffee. Text me when you are conscious, hmmm. Mind how you go, dear boy.” With that he stepped forward, gave Crowley a chaste kiss on the cheek, lightly pushing him down the steps, closing the door behind him.

Crowley stumbled out into the sunlight, staggering in the direction of coffee, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	5. Therapy and All that comes with it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has an existential crisis and has to face up to answering some hard questions.
> 
> Is he brave enough?

“One long black double double coming right up” the barista smiled as Crowley slid a ten pound note onto the counter muttering “Keep the change” before heading to the mercifully free couches, collapsing sideways on one. It was too fucking early for crowds on a Sunday morning leaving him both resentful and thankful to be up so early.

He vaguely remembered getting up a couple of times to pee, the light on and the door thoughtfully left open enough for him to find it in the dark. But he normally barely slept 5 hours undisturbed in one stretch, to have slept ALL NIGHT was….. a miracle.

His coffee was deposited on the magazine loaded table in front of him, the barista hovered “Are you okay? You look a little rough.”

Crowley looked down at himself, clothing obviously slept in, hair a tangled mess and laughed “Yeah, fell asleep on a friends sofa. On my way home, just need a coffee.” He wrapped both hands around the hot cup, breathing in the bitter fumes before tasting the first scalding mouthful “Fuck yes, come to Daddy.”

At that point his stomach let out an audible gurgle, much his embarrassment, and the amusement of the barista, who crinkled their eyes at him “We do a pretty good bacon and eggs and toast…..” Crowley sat back with a sigh “Yeah go on then.”

It was a good breakfast, bacon cooked but not to a crumbly crisp, proper butter on the toast and eggs nicely runny. He tossed another ten pound note on the counter on his way out the door, making a mental note to come back. It was worth becoming a regular, not just for the proximity to a certain bookshop, but better than average coffee and food was a nice bonus.

**********************************************  
  
His flat was chilly in comparison to the warm comfort of Aziraphale’s flat, Crowley shivered as he stripped his jacket, scarf and gloves off, tossing them on his designer sofa. Punching up his Angsty Thinking Playlist (named by Bee, the smartarse), dialing the speakers up loud, he ran a bath, stripping off his clothes and throwing them in the general direction of the hamper.

As the bathroom filled with steam he stared at himself in the mirror (one of those expensive heated ones that didn’t fog up). Hard jagged planes and angles, sharp edges, emberbright hair falling in soft waves to his shoulder blades, freaky eyes and an artfully cultivated foul mouth.

_Nothing about him was real, it was all a façade, a personal, he was a tangle of coathangers and anxiety, clothed in black leather and attitude. Fake it till you make it, as the adage goes. Yet he felt like he had faked it for nearly every day of his life._

_Abandoned by an unknown father, junkie mother dying on the bathroom floor in a pool of vomit for her four year old son to discover in the morning, tossed into fostercare, traumatised, callously undiagnosed, handed from uncaring place to another until finally he had found the nearest thing to home. Adopted by an older Scottish couple, his new mother also with celtic red hair, they had bonded over books and stories._

_Homeschooled til his teenage years, unsettled around other children, prone to lashing out and picking fights, having the shit kicked out of him a few times had adjusted his priorities. Anyone could be a bully or a mouthy git. What he wanted was a way out, a way to a better life._

_Crowley wanted to know *everything*, his teachers complained about his incessant asking of questions, challenging their answers. Wanting to know why, to fully understand rather than be spoonfed wasn’t something they had the depth to cater too. All except one Physics teacher with a reputation for being a hard bastard who didn’t suffer idiots and time wasters. Recognising a kindred spirit, he had mentored the young Crowley (who changed his last name when he was legally adopted), showing him the delights of higher math, physics, algebra, calculus and the best thing of all, astronomy._

_Fascinated with the concept that we weren’t alone in the Universe, doing a degree in Astronomy at Cambridge (via a hardwon scholarship) doing well enough to get into the Masters Program at Tokyo University._

_Then his mother finally lost her fight with ovarian cancer and died, his father drowned his sorrows in alcohol, plowed his car into a tree at 2am, and age 24, Crowley was alone in a foreign country. Three months later he was in hospital with a femur broken in two places, and a severe concussion. It was the final straw that got him tossed politely but unceremoniously out of the Masters program for lack of attendance._

_Broken physically and emotionally, near catatonic with depression, he was moved to a secure facility, resisting medication and counselling until one day he stumbled (literally) across a man who appeared to be torturing a plant by wrapping wire around it._

_So Crowleys journey back to wellness started with one kind Japanese grandfather, bonsai, tai-chi and the eventual awareness that he had to be responsible for his own mental wellbeing, if he wanted to keep sane. To stay….alive._

_Eighteen months after arriving in Japan, he hugged Hiro-san goodbye, flew home to the cold dusty house behind his now dead parents Antique shop, arriving to a pile of mail, one of which was an official looking letter addressed to Anthony J. Crowley._

_He opened it, read it once, broke out the Johnnie Walker, downed a shot or two, reading the crisp typewritten text on the heavily embossed textured paper unbelievably again. Then he called the family lawyer, making an appointment for the next day._

_Having inherited his parents estate, leaving him with a house, a thriving business, and a shop full of expensive inventory, he was financially in a good position. The contents of the letter came with more surprises. His birth mother had come from money, and had been a favourite grandchild apparently. When she died, her oldest child inherited her estate, transferred on their 25 th birthday.  
  
Crowley was now also the owner of the contents of a small warehouse, that contained an eclectic collection of some quite astonishing art and paintings, a mint condition 1933 Bentley of a rarity that made it more valuable to sell than to keep. Having grown up in a household familiar with the antique trade, Crowley was able to cherry pick a few items, sell them discreetly, providing him with the funds to study a year at Design College, and setup his own design business._

_From there his hard ass attitude, absolute commitment to quality and a design aesthetic, fully hands on involvement with a project, a miraculous ability to find just the right unique piece to satisfy his clientele, coupled with his own carefully cultivated bad boy persona and look, and he became a ‘name’ in the industry within a few years._

_He should be dead, many times over, it was bloody luck that he had survived this far, yet all he had to show for it was a curated Instagram feed, a business doing a job he loved for clients he mostly disliked, a collection of bonsai plants, a bit of a thing for expensive single malts and driving his brand new Bentley Continental GT V8 not nearly fast enough.  
  
Nothing of his life was real, beyond the scars on his body and the ones in his mind. It wasn’t real because it didn’t mean anything. It was just a way of keeping score, of showing the world that he wasn’t the fucked up kid with the junkie mother._

_Except, deep down, he knew he still was, no matter how far he travelled, he couldn’t leave that boy behind. At least……not until he had fallen asleep on the sinfully comfortable sofa of the most unusual man he had ever met._

_When his brain had woken, it had registered comfort, safety, warmth. It tangled up in memories of his parents, reading to him, his mother stroking his hair, his father explaining new words, patiently taking him to museums and art galleries in every city they had travelled to._

_Being with Aziraphale made him feel…….safe._

_So why did it terrify him so much?_

_***************************************  
_ After a luxurious soak in the bath, an afternoon tending to his botanical children, an intensely satisfying session of tai chi, followed by a good yoga stretch, he sighed in resignation. The anxiety weasels were on the treadmill in his brain, running faster and faster. He knew the signs.

Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through his contacts until he found his therapists number and text them.

**AJC: Hey I need to talk, free tomorrow?**

He decided to burn off some nervous energy by making some lasagne, cheesy pasta goodness with a full bodied red would do nicely for dinner for the next few nights, if he made enough. Halfway through making the ragu his phone chimed.

**Bee: Its been a while, you OK? Are you safe?**

His mouth twisted at the implications of what that had meant in the past

**AJC: Yeah, just a bit of an existential crisis. I’m gonna need a big chunk of clay for this one…..**

**Bee: OK come in at 12.30 and I will see you at 1pm. You know the drill.**

**AJC: Cheers, BTW making lasagne, want some?**

**Bee: Dumb question!**

**AJC: KTHXBAI**

**Bee: Arsehat**

********************************************************

Having learned his lesson the first time, he never drove to Bee’s appointments. He was never sure what state he would be in at the end, but sure as hell it was never fit for dealing with London traffic. Desperately craving a coffee, instead opting for a peppermint tea, needing the warmth and comfort, denying his system the caffeine overload it was demanding.

_What is with WRONG with you, you fucking idiot? Someone shows you some kindness and you lose it? Why can’t you LET YOURSELF BE HAPPY, even for a moment? Why does it have to be so hard? Can’t you just enjoy something for once?_

_Why does he even like me? I was a fucking rude cunt! Think you’re funny? Just a smart mouthed bastard. Sad bastard more like._

_What’s his deal? I know he’s gay, but that kiss? On the cheek for gods sake? Is he playing games? Leading me on? Doesn’t seem his style but people are arseholes. Know that well and truly._

_Why me? I’m so out of his league? So fucking messed up, afraid of commitment, I always run, I’ve gotta run, leave him before he leaves me, again again…_

Pacing the pavement outside their office, he was startled out of his churning thoughts by his phone pinging  
  
 **Bee: BREATHE you idiot**

_Fuck they knew him so well!  
  
_ Walking into the foyer to get out of the cold, picking a dingy chair in the far corner, he sat, closed his eyes and did his circular breathing routine

_Breath in for the count of four  
Hold for the count of four  
Breath out for the count of four  
Hold for the count of four_

Slowly, his heart rate settled, the adrenaline drained out of his system, he began to feel all the tense bunched up muscles, focusing on relaxing them through the breathing. Grabbing the sugar loaded muesli bar out of a pocket, resolutely chewing and swallowing to give his system the calories it needed to combat the adrenaline decline, he tended to get the shakes and the food helped.

_Okay Okay, breathe, in, out, in out, calm, be centered, relax, let it go (dumb fucking song)._

_Its good, he’s good, just….take it slow, don’t overthink it (yeah right), let him show you what he wants, friends is good, friends is fine (don’t fucking spoil it now)_

_You can do this…._

_You can._

With a deep breath he opened his eyes, drained the last of the peppermint tea, tossed the cup in the nearest bin, taking the lift to the 5th floor where Bee’s office was located. 

“Crowley my man, what’s the happs?” Bees receptionist was a 6 foot 5 inch curvaceous man of Jamaican descent, dressed in finest corporate drag, who preferred to be called Louisa. They had bonded over makeup tips and recommendations for places to buy womens clothing for men. Lousia lusted after Crowleys luxuriant red tresses, opting for wigs for himself.

“Oh honey, you look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet and NOT in a good way, you go on in. Chat later, luvey.”

Crowley dropped a kiss on one carefully rouged cheek “Told you a blue based red would suit you better, that colours gorgeous on you.”

Louisa battered magnificent false eyelashes at him and sighed “I know, I’ll say it later.”

“I was right?” Crowley arched an eyebrow over the line of his sunglasses, smirking in his most annoying way.

“You were right, and I am gorgeous.” Louisa flapped exquisitely manicured hands at him

“Go on darling, you look like you need it.”

Crowley closed the office door behind him and sighed in relief. All the blinds were down, the room was dim enough for him to remove his glasses. An ugly formica table sat off to one side, a large square lump of cold grey white clay awaited him.

Removing his jacket, gloves and scarf, tossing them on the nearest chair, he slid his boots off, took off his blazer, and rolled up the sleeves of a paint stained black Henley. His jeans were a faded black, worn soft, also paint stained. His working clothes. His get shit done clothes. The paperbag with the container of lasagne was placed carefully on Bee’s desk. Finally his sunglasses got left on top of his jacket.

With a sigh he walked to the table, laid his hands on the cold clay, closed his eyes, breathed in and out, picked it up and slammed it down on the surface. Again and again, grunting with the effort.

Cold clay is a very dense material, it takes a lot of manual labour, using your hands, wrists, arms, shoulders and back, you have to transfer enough energy into the clay that it begins to warm, to soften, become malleable.

Done well the clay becomes pliable when its evenly worked through. There is a particular technique where you roll with the fingers and push with the heel of your hand, similar to kneading bread, but with clay you use both hands, its called the ram’s head wedging technique.

_Crowley had come to Bee because he had heard they had an unusual approach to therapy. It involved a lot of art, especially physical elements like working clay. Bee’s theory was that it allowed you to work out your stress and aggression in a way the body found natural, disengaging the brain, giving you space to process, slowing your thoughts down.  
  
For Crowley it had worked, eventually, once he had given himself over to the process. Now the calming familiar actions were almost meditative, helping ground him in his body while allowing his brain to let go of itself._

His brain registered the arrival of someone else in the room, but Bee murmured quietly “It’s me” so Crowley’s brain marked the intruder as safe, and he carried on working the clay. They sat in their oversized lounge chair, feet delicately tucked under the pillows, silently waiting and watching, until with a sigh, the red head let go of the clay, leaned forward, groaning as he stretched out his back and shoulder muscles. A couple of pops as his spine released and Bee murmured   
  
“Wash your hands, and come sit down, and tell me all about him.”

Straightening enough to eye Bee with a very hairy eyeball, he went to the sink, spent several minutes getting the worst of the clay off his hands, before slouching down on the sofa opposite his therapist

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“You are only afraid of two things, and they are so intertwined, they might as well be one, yeah?”

“Yeah” he sighed, this is why he kept coming back, because they had the patience to deal to his bullshit, help him understand his trauma and its impact, and not let him be anything but honest with the both of them. No matter how much it hurt.”

“OK, start talking.” They settled themselves comfortably in the chair, notepad and pen in their lap.

“Well, it’s a funny story really…” He crossed an arm across his eyes, nestling down into the cushions

“Where have I heard that before?”

“Do you want to hear this or not? I can take the bloody lasagne home with me you know…”

“Shutting up now…”

“Anyway, I was late for an appointment in Soho when…..”

***********************************  
  
Crowley talked and talked and talked, then Bee started with their questions, and they talked more. Two cans of coke sat empty on the table, several pages of notes had been scribed. He was sitting cross legged on the sofa, the better to gesture wildly while he was talking, as Bee drifted idly around the room, listening and firing questions back, as was their wont.  
  
“So you meet a guy in rather unlikely circumstances, meet him again and are your usually insufferably rude self, yet he agrees to meet you AGAIN, lets you sleep on his sofa, kisses you on the cheek as he shoves you out the door the morning after? Is that about it?”

Shifting uncomfortably at the rather cutting summary of the events, he nodded “Yeah.”

“Okay, evidence says he is either insane, or he likes you. Fair call?” when he went to object to the insane plea they held up their hand “Yes or no answers, you know the drill”

“Yeah alright, though I think he is both.”

“Me too, but that’s not an official diagnosis. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Do you like him?”

He stared at Bee “Didn’t I say that?” and they snorted “Yes you waxed lyrical about him for over an hour, but do you like him. Like as in friends, who spend time together.”

“Well I’m not really good at the whole friends thing (ignoring another snort from his therapist – who really should be less opinionated for the amount he was paying quite frankly) but yeah. I like him.”

“Do you want to fuck him?”

“Jesus Christ Bee!!! What kind of question is that?”

“One with a yes or no answer…..” and they paused meaningfully

He ran an anxious hand through his hair “Look I don’t know what he wants, right?” but Bee interrupted “This isn’t about him, its about you. Yes or no?”

For a long moment he stared sightlessly at the ground, before giving up with a sigh that slumped his shoulders “Yes I want him.”

“Good, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” and he gave her the hairy eyeball for the filthy pun which won him a smile that was more teeth than anything.  
  
“Alright, are you in love with him?”

He was half expecting that question, but it still jolted him to his core, running his fingertips up and down the seam of his jeans while he processed how to answer

“Not yet……but I think I could fall for him, pretty hard. If I let myself.”

With a soft ahhh Bee stopped and looked at him “And what’s stopping you?”

He stared at her, suddenly angry and tense, hands clenched whiteknuckled on his thighs and he gritted out through teeth clenched together   
  
“You know why”

Bee nodded serenely “I do, we both do. But what I don’t know is why it matters enough that you came here to talk to me about it. There is something different about him, its affecting you far more than I have seen before. Why Crowley? Why does he matter so much?”

_Because I want to go to sleep with my head in his lap, I want to wake up next to him in the mornings, he makes me want things I haven’t wanted before, things I don’t have words for yet. And that makes me afraid._

_But *he* makes me feel safe, in a way I never have before_

_Why would he want me, I’m just a gay disaster, everyone abandons me, one way or another. If I let myself love him, I don’t think I could cope when he leaves me too._

_Whoever said its better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all was a fatuous arsehole._

“Aziraphale…..he’s special. Different. He thinks tartan is stylish” and the disgust in his voice was enough to make Bee break out into one of their rare genuine laughs.

“Really?” Crowley nodded, with a resigned shrug “He wears bow ties, unironically too.”

“Well” they said with a gentle smile “Sort out a time with Lou to come back Thursday or Friday, hmmm”

Uncertainly Crowley unfolded himself from the sofa “Mm’kay, but what do I do between now and then?”

“Think about what you could have if you were brave enough to allow yourself the possibility”

Before he could reply, Bee smiled sweetly “Thanks for the lasagne, how about meatballs next time?”

Distracted by hopping into his boots, he shot her a filthy glare “I don’t take requests.”

“Be grateful I don’t ask for baklava!”

They bickered while he dressed for the cold outdoors, he made his next appointment with Louisa, battling his way through the underground crowds to finally enjoy a walk through the familiar streets of Soho, and home.  
  
It wasn’t till he was on the edge of falling asleep that his brain filtered her last suggestion back at him  
  
 _“Think about what you could have if you were brave enough to allow yourself the possibility”_

He didn’t have nightmares that night either….


	6. Spring Cleaning in December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale also has an existential crisis, his flat gets a makeover, and some personal realisations are had.
> 
> This one has a small amt of smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a personal note - I find it hard to relate to Aziraphale as a character, I don't hear his voice in the same way I hear Crowleys.
> 
> So any constructive critique or feedback is welcome, I have my own particular views on their personalities which then filter into these characters. But Im open to different opinions.

Heart pounding Aziraphale closed and locked the shop door, tottering to his desk while hyperventilating a little. Collapsing into his chair, he put his head in his hands and moaned a little.

_He was SO conflicted….watching Crowley sleep on his sofa made him feel things….things he was afraid to put a name to._

_Crowley didn’t judge or threaten him, require him to be anything but who he was. Had even apologised for well intentioned rudeness. While he teased and joked, he didn’t mock, wasn’t cruel, not out to score points in some imaginary game that no one ever bothered to explain the rules of._

_Aziraphale wanted to run his fingers through that glorious emberbright hair, pet it until its owner was pliant and purring under his touch (as he imagined Crowley might well be). He wanted those arms to reach out for him, hold him close, to taste the as yet only imagined curves and hollows of that lithe freckled body, he wanted to wake up next to those marvellous eyes. To hear that dark chocolate and whisky voice murmur ‘Mornin Angel’…_

_But Aziraphale always wanted too much, cared too much. Was clingy, high maintenance, needy and a bit of a pillow princess according to his previous lovers. He still wasn’t sure what the last one meant, but was certain it wasn’t …….kind. He couldn’t help his essential nature, but his tendency to fuss, hover, fret and fail to make even the smallest of decisions easily eventually drove people away._

_All to well he understood the dark bitterness behind Crowleys statement of_ “Nothing fucking fair about life, angel. Its hard and cruel. If you are lucky you get chances and choices, and if you are really lucky, you don’t fuck it up too much along the way.”

_He’d been very lucky (in some ways) but had not always made the wisest choices. His nursing surpervisor had eventually been proved right, when she had commented “You care too much Aziraphale, you get too invested. If you want to stay sane, you need to care just enough to do your job well. Otherwise you will burn out.”_

_Within two years he had walked away from his first career choice of nursing, but instead of being unemployed and burdened with debt, had miraculously inherited his grandfathers substantial estate (much to the wrath of his Uncle and cousins, who had marshalled an army of lawyers to contest it, but eventually capitulated when Aziraphale had negotiated passing over the family estate to Gabriel)._

_Young enough to start over, wealthy enough he didn’t really need to work, deciding this time to indulge himself in what he truly loved, rather than what he thought he should have been doing. His passion for books in all forms, coupled with his extensive knowledge in book restoration as taught by his grandfather meant he excelled in his studies. His intense focus and fascination for the work put him on the PhD track early, and the now extensive personal and very exclusive private library offered a rare vault of material to fuel his studies._

_To be invited to the shop to view some of Dr Fell’s prized first editions was an opportunity spoken of in hushed whispers within the rare book community. Despite his cheerful and kindly exterior, the heart of a cut throat negotiator beat firmly, he got a reputation for being ruthless but scrupulously fair in his dealings._

_Along the way he encountered men, had a few flings, a couple of longer term relationships, but devoted passion only for his books, and eventually the lovers got frustrated and left. Usually after a lot of yelling and dreadfully confrontational arguments that left Aziraphale shaking and weeping._

_For a while he saw a therapist, but she pushed him too hard to face truths about himself and the world that he steadfastly turned his face away from. So, the years turned to decades, and facing down 50 in a couple of years, the question arose - WHAT DID HE HAVE TO SHOW FOR IT?_

_A fortune he was lucky to inherit, a life of trauma and poor decisions (his and other peoples), a reliance on food as a coping mechanism, a deeply introverted relationship with his books, a pitiful number of people he could call friends, and an increasingly profound feeling of melancholy._

_If Aziraphale had to put a word to it…..he was lonely._

_He missed the company of another person in his life, that feeling of intimacy and security that he wasn’t completely alone in the world, having someone to take care of, to give his life meaning, to make him feel valued. To not feel worthless anymore._

“Tea. A good strong cup of tea, that’s what you need.” Finding his tin of Assam in the pantry, he brewed up a double strength pot, added a little liquid honey to the cup to balance the flavour, wandering over to open the curtains in his flat to let the tepid winter morning light in.

Sipping the tea relaxed him, he put on some rousing Big Band music and got stuck into the household chores. Tidying the kitchen, doing dishes, dusting, resisting the urge to sit down with a favourite book, cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming, washing the floors.

Humming to the music, hauling the vacuum cleaner across the flat, pushing his bedroom door open with one elbow, cursing as the powercord got stuck under the edge of his chair **again.** The familiar routines of housekeeping distracted him, until throwing open the curtains to let the light in, turning to see the bed, blankets thrown messily on the floor, and the memory he had been subconsciously avoiding all day hit him like a punch to the gut….

_Half waking from the intensely erotic dream featuring a lot of pale skin and red hair, cock aching and hard, fucking himself into the mattress with short breathy pants and moans, but it wasn’t enough….he was so close…._

_A hand fumbling down into his pyjama bottoms, cockhead already slick enough to coat his palm, biting down on a wrist to muffle his cries, eyes clenched shut, imagining the sure grip of a fine boned, bladefingered hand, nails painted black, dusted with pale freckles, deftly working his cock with short hard strokes, winding him tighter, until with a guttural moan, he came hard enough to see stars, hips jerking as he worked himself through his release._

_Sleepy, sated and satisfied, he used the corner of a sheet to roughly clean himself up, making a mental note to do a hot wash tomorrow…. And drifted off into sleep once more._

“Oh, Fuck.”

Standing there with his unconscious emotions raw and exposed, Aziraphale had a mild ephiphany, that it was entirely possible (if he made the slightest effort to exert himself) that what he wanted…..might actually be possible.

The most important realisation was that if he did nothing, then that’s likely what he would receive.

Aziraphale knew he had wrapped himself in layers and layers of protection. All humans do for their own mental well being, but Aziraphales were additionally padded with his rather warped ideas of how the world *should* be.

Raised in a strongly Christian family, spoon fed bible catechisms, quotes and soliloquys, an insulated family with him as the treasured first son and only child had given him what many would call ‘rose tinted glasses’ in relation to his views on fairness, kindness, doing good and generally existing. His parents deaths in a car accident and the abuse of his relations had layered more trauma into the mix, making him a therapists worst nightmare.

Standing there, illuminated in dusty sunlight, Aziraphale felt something fundamental shift deep inside him. Looking at the rather shabby untidy bedroom with fresh eyes, he was ashamed. What would a lover thing of the bland white walls, piles of dust covered books on every flat surface, ancient and creaky iron bedframe with a saggy uncomfortable mattress, an overwhelming amount of tartan fabric – his pyjamas, robe, slippers, and duvet cover the most obvious criminal suspects.  
  
It looked like his grandfathers bedroom, a thought that had once comforted him. Now, he felt embarrassed (grateful that he hadn’t given Crowley a tour already). Giving his vacuum cleaner a baleful glare he marched back into the lounge, picking up his phone to scroll through the contacts Newt had painstakingly programmed in for him (Aziraphale loved the convenience of technology, he simply didn’t have the patience to understand how to use it properly).

**“Hakeem? Good Afternoon, its Dr Fell, of the bookshop? Oh yes you remember me, good.”**

**“My apologies, I had forgotten it was a Sunday. Should I call back tomorrow?”**

**“Oh you are very kind. I was wondering if your delightful staff would be available this week?”**

**“What for? Well I rather feel like my flat could do with a bit of a spring clean? Floor to ceiling, everything spick and span.”**

**“My good man, of course I realise Christmas is only a few weeks away. Happy to pay double your going rate for a full day, for the inconvenience.”**

**“Just the flat upstairs, living area, both bedrooms, bathroom. Can you get someone to clean the windows as well? Inside and outside?”**

**“Of course, just add it to my bill dear boy.”**

**“Wednesday? Excellent. So very kind.”**

Aziraphale set the phone down with a feeling of satisfaction, which drained away when faced with assessing the living room space. Faded velvet curtains with a distinct grimy stain where they dragged on the floor. Cushions with the fabric worn through in places, too much tartan, furniture arranged haphazardly. It looked like an aged bachelor pad, which in truth it was. If he was going to change that, drastic action was needed.

He was going to have to go……. SHOPPING!!

*************************************************  
Turns out that when you have a credit card with a limit that would pay off most peoples mortgages, the ability to cut glass with the very poshest of accents, an absolute commitment that things would be done his way in such an adamantly polite manner, that sales people found themselves agreeing to quite ridiculous things.  
  
Like sending a crew of delivery men to deliver his new luxuriously sinful king sized bed, put it together after taking apart his old one, and taking it away to be disposed of. After a celebratory cup of tea and slice of chocolate gateaux for all the hardworking (if somewhat bemused) delivery guys. 

Or organising for an interior decorating consultant to make a home visit, to advise on replacing curtains, soft furnishings, rugs and anything else that might be beneficial. Who had also been delighted to be served up tea in the finest family china, and cheesecake with tiny antique silver cake forks. Who had nearly fainted at Aziraphales casual comment of,

“Oh we can put the Aubusson’s in the bedroom. They have worn well given how old they are.”

Christine choked on her tea “How old are they, exactly?” eyes lighting up in avarice at the veritable treasures so casually laid out to be walked on.

Aziraphale shrugged “I have no idea. My grandfather said he found them rolled up in a corner when he moved in.”

“That was?”

“After the War, 47 or 48 I think.”

_Christine made a note to talk to a valuer and find a specialist carpet cleaner for the precious and somewhat unappreciated beauties._

Aziraphale didn’t like to throw money at a problem too often, but he had a deadline to work to, and it did *motivate* people so much more. Accordingly a cherry picker spent most of a day annoying the pedestrians by blocking the footpath while the flat windows were power washed outside, inside a crew of three cheerful university students and their boss efficiently sorted out the insides of the same windows.

Another team of men with stepladders and powertools came and removed his old curtains and curtain rails, putting up modern wider ones, installing roman blinds in a heavyweight cream fabric, coming back the next day to put up new elegant cream and gold brocade curtains.

Tatty tartan cushions were exchanged for plump replacements in shades of green and gold. Plush throws were layered over the sofa, and one solitary tartan rug was tucked in between the layers. Just because.

Furniture was arranged, fluffy rugs laid down and furniture put back in more functional arrangement (the vacuum cord would no longer get hung up on his chair!), lamps with low wattage bulbs appeared in various spaces, with a halogen floor standing lamp installed next to Aziraphales reading chair.

Though it took him several days, he ruthlessly cleaned his bedroom of the many piles of books (admittedly only moving them to the spare room, but still, points for effort!). More practical modern side tables were acquired, also sprouting low wattage lamps. Another halogen lamp illuminated the decadently luxurious acreage of king sized bed, now adorned in finest thread count cotton sheets, warm layers of duvet, expensive feather pillows for sleeping, plus two large leaning cushions for sitting up reading. His pyjamas remained tartan but everything else was upgraded. He *did* have some standards!

Rearranging the furniture again made the space more functional but also more attractive, the walls needed some art, and he felt the bed looked a bit naked without a headboard. But these were things that could evolve naturally.

**************************************

It had taken a week (and quite a lot of money), but what a difference a good clean, a fresh look and moving some things around had made. For the first time Aziraphale felt like it was his space, rather than the place he had inherited and moved into.

Sitting down to sip at a well earned whisky, he checked his phone for notifications. Crowley usually text him during the day, occasional photos of something amusing, artistic shots of various lunches, comments of places they should eat out at. Aziraphale was beginning to see the benefit of these quick easy conversations enabled by technology, though his overly formal approach to texting made Crowley tease him _at first he had been offended, then realised the humour was a gentle way to educate him. The huffier he got, the funnier the redhead found it._

_Slowly they were beginning to get the measure of each other, but the boundaries of where they overlapped were still amorphous, permeable._

**AJC: Haven’t seen you in days angel, lunch 2morro?**

**Angel: Been busy dear boy, but all sorted now. Lunch sounds delightful. What did you have in mind?**

**AJC: Come into the office, meet the crew. Taking them out for Xmas lunch, come with?**

**Angel: Won’t I be the spare wheel?**

**AJC: Third wheel angel, and course not. Pick you up? 11ish?**

**Angel: Come in the usual way.**

**AJC: CIAO**


	7. Of Christmas Jerseys and Chickens Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets The Motley Crew but he holds his ground nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps, Ive been wrestling with the energy to write this for a while. I strained my achilles tendon three weeks ago, and combined with end of year rush, its been a stressful December.
> 
> This is about 2/3 of the chapter as I wanted to write it, but I wanted to POST something and it goes in a different direction from here. So the next one will be sooner but shorter.

Staring at his wardrobe, Aziraphale pondered. What did one wear to work lunch of a friends colleagues when you had no idea where you were going? Normally he put very little thought into his appearance, but today he …..cared.

Finally settling on his most casual pants, crisp white shirt, waistcoat, sportscoat with a subtle houndstooth pattern. Finishing off with a tartan bowtie, gathering up his scarf and heavy camel wool coat, he headed downstairs. Easier to keep an eye out for Crowley from the shop.

After an anxious ten minutes wandering around the shop, he picked up a book off his desk sitting down to read. A vague rumbling noise intruded on his concentration (underpinned by heavy bass speakers) as a sleek, black and very expensive looking Bentley Continental GT V8 slid to a halt alongside his shop. It sat, purring like a black panther for a moment, when a ding from his phone startled Aziraphale.

**AJC: Outside make it snappy angel**

Donning his coat and scarf, exiting and locking the shop door, he cautiously opened the passenger door to be blasted by music pouring from the speakers.

Crowley tapped something on the steering wheel, making the music fade into the background, he smiled cheerily at Aziraphale.

“Strap in and hang on, traffics a nightmare today”

Barely waiting til the seatbelt clicked into place, with a spine vibrating thrum they were off, Crowley swearing and cursing at pedestrians, other drivers and traffic lights as he navigated them through Soho and Mayfair, until they merged into traffic on the A4. Forced to move with the traffic, the car slowed to what Aziraphale considered a reasonable speed, Crowley glancing over at him,

“You alright Angel?”

Hands clenched white knuckled on his seatbelt, Aziraphale nodded jerkily, trying not to close his eyes while he struggled to calm his breathing _its safe, its safe, we aren’t going to crash, perfectly safe, Crowley will take care of us, it’s a Bentley, it will survive anything_

Fortunately the traffic slowed even more, allowing him to calm down enough to relax a little bit.

Tentatively he ventured “It’s a very beautiful car” and Crowley flashes a smile at him, while concentrating on the traffic,

“Yeah she’s a beauty alright. My pride and joy” He rubbed a hand fondly on the red leather dash. A rather confusing array of dials, knobs, buttons and screens were laid out on the drivers side and central console (Aziraphale wondered how distracting it would be while driving).

“Does she have a name?”

Crowley actually turned, pulled his sunglasses down his nose and glared “THE Bentley of course” he huffed “What else?”

Faking an apologetic tone, he stroked the fine black quilted leather under his fingertips “Oh *of course* silly me!”

Growling “Taking the piss are you, angel?” Crowley navigated them through an intersection and Aziraphale relaxed a bit more into the wonderfully comfortable seats.

“Not at all dear boy, you clearly feel the same way about your car as I do about my books” pausing thoughtfully “In fact I’m surprised you even allow passengers into such hallowed precincts.”

_Was that a blush rising from his collar?_ Shifting a bit selfconciously, the redhead replied “Yeah, well, not usually…..but…”

“Mmmmm?”

“Well it’s the only way prise you out of your bookshop. Plus I hate the Tube. If we are going somewhere, we are going in style!”

“Quite. And where *are* we going, exactly?”

“Didn’t I say?”

“Just that we were going to your office, but no specifics.”

“Sorry Angel, its in Putney” as Aziraphale tried unsuccessfully to turn his surprised cough into something less offensive, Crowley glanced his way and drawled sarcastically

“Yeah I know, it’s the burbs, but that’s where our clients live. When I started out it was cheap and affordable. S’not so bad now, bit soccer mom at times, but some nice places to eat now.”

“I look forward to it. What are your people like?”

“Well Tracy has been with me from the beginning, woman’s a rockstar. Knows EVERYBODY. Keeps me in line.”

He slowed down to pull off the motorway, blending them carefully into the offramp traffic and snaking through the streets lined with bungalows and elegant Regency townhouses.

“The rest of my crew are all young, mid 20’s. Bring fresh perspectives, cater to the younger set. Smart kids.” Crowley flicked a smile at Aziraphale as he slowed down, pulling to a stop in front of a pair of semi detached townhouses, clearly updated from the Regency style, but retaining the original elegance and charm.

Dashing through the rain, Aziraphale only had a few moments to admire the gardens, wet and winter drab though they were, but someone had clearly put a lot of work into them. He would like to see them in the warmer months.

Crowley ushered him into an elegant sitting room “Let me take your coat and scarf” hanging them up, then a warm hand in the small of his back “This way, they should be bloody waiting for us if they know whats good for’em”

A blast of SURPRISE!!!! from 5 or 6 voices stopped them both in their tracks, coming from an energetic array of young adults, all dressed in the most appalling Christmas jerseys. An elegantly dressed older lady, with a chic bob of glorious silver grey hair, twinset and pearls approached eyes twinkling, with two more horrendous jerseys in her outstretched hands

“Sorry love, they decided we had to have a theme…..”

Aziraphale looked at the happy expectant faces, exchanging a wry glance with the other man, removing his jacket he said “You choose, dear boy.”

_He didn’t miss the flicker of expressions and exchanged looks between the as yet unidentified audience._

Chatting happily the young people milled about, and as Aziraphale unbuttoned his waistcoat he was approached by a tall darkskinned woman, vibrating with energy as she reached out to stroke the fabric

“Oh my god is that silk velvet? Like the real stuff?”

Pausing he smiled at her “I certainly hope so my dear, given what my tailor charged me for it”

Dark eyes twinkled back at him “Oh I’m Pepper. May I?” She held out her hands and reverently lifted the waistcoat off his shoulders as he turned to allow her to take custody of it, cooing and stroking the fabric “This gold satin is exquisite and the brocading looks like it was done by hand”

Crowleys voice cut through the din “Where the hell is the Antichrist? WARLOCK!!!!! Get your skinny goth arse down here!”

_No one else seemed to be surprised by this rather startling sentence so Aziraphale continued on with the introductions being made to him. Trying to ignore the nervous sweat on his palm, and the itch of the hideous scratchy cheap woollen jersey that was embarrassingly snug around his middle._

A nervous dark haired boy hiding a weak chin under a nicely sculpted beard was Wensley (short for Wensleydale) who did the accounts with Tracy, a lanky slightly scruffy lad was Brian (something with computers), Pepper who was into finishings and project management, an almost angelically handsome blond man was introduced as Adam (Customer Relations) and eventually a lean black clad Crowley look alike (but with black hair and a lot of eyeliner) slunk into the room a leather satchel clutched in one hand, settling on the couch between Adam and Pepper.  
  
“Yeah this is Warlock, our artist and colour specialist. Right you lot, this is Aziraphale, or Dr Fell to you uncouth louts. Yeah, he helped me out with the whole Tea Incident thing, so be nice? Hmm?”  
  
Pepper asked “Are you a medical doctor then?”

Uncomfortable being the center of attention, Aziraphale flicked a pleading glance to Crowley before answering “Oh no my dear girl, I have a PhD in Medieval Literature.”

“So you’re like a Professor then?” At a loss of how to explain the semantics of the differences he shrugged “Yes and no.”

Impatiently Crowley growled “Gonna be late, move your skinny millennial arses! Pepper you drive the van. See you all there! C’mon Angel.” He gathered up their discarded clothes to load in the back of the car (saving a trip back to the office after lunch)

They left behind loud bickering about woman drivers as they donned their coats and scarves, heading out into the rain and back into the luxurious comfort of the red and black leather interior of the Bentley. Trying not to wiggle at the scratchy wool Aziraphale murmured “A rambunctious lot….”

Over the sound of tyres hissing on wet roads, Crowley smiled warmly “Yeah, good kids really. I was lucky to find them.”

_More like they were lucky to find you I suspect….._

“Sorry about the bloody jerseys” Crowley wriggled “Itchy as fuck aren’t they!”

“Oh I didn’t want to say, but it does itch dreadfully.” _Its too small, I look huge and fat and middleaged. Its so embarrassing._

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed the redhead saying “You look cute though.”

Taken by surprise Aziraphale stuttered “Nnnnnnoo no I don’t, I look ridiculous and huge.”

Sliding quietly to a stop in the restaurant carpark, Crowley killed the engine, undid his seatbelt, turning to look at the blond “Are you telling me I’m wrong?” _there was a dark undertone to the question that unnerved Aziraphale, it wanted things from him_

Biting his lip, feeling himself blush with embarrassment, Aziraphale was stuck, there was no graceful way to get out of this “Ummmm How do I answer that?”

Crowley grinned a particularly shit eating grin at him “By not disagreeing when I say nice things to you. That’s how.” He slid out of the car, waiting for Aziraphale, locking the Bentley with his remote as a large white van erupted with familiar faces talking at the top of their lungs.

************************************************************  
  
Eventually they were seated at a large round table in a private room, blinds down and dim enough for Crowley to remove his glasses. From his seat across the table, Aziraphale nervously read through the menu. It was Yum Cha and he was familiar with most of the options, but the youngsters had definite opinions on what should be ordered.

Crowley had provided champagne, Adam and Pepper were deftly pouring it into flutes and handing around the table. Aziraphale accepted his and when asked for his dinner choices said “Everything sounds delicious, I will try a little here and there, if I may?”

_Don’t eat too much, don’t eat too loudly, don’t eat too slowly, don’t be an inconvenience, be a thoughtful guest, don’t talk too much!_

_All the admonishments from his cousins and Uncle rose from his subconscious to peck and gnaw at him, he sat up very proper, elbows in, hands in his lap, but the boisterous energy and casual vitality of the young people allowed him to unwind a bit. Clearly they weren’t going to judge his posture, berate him for imagined misdemeanours._

Slowly the wine, the delicious food and the good company relaxed him. There was a quiet lull as more food was ordered. Tracy was seated to his right, Warlock to his left, then Pepper, Adam, Crowley opposite him, finish up with Brian and Wensley.

Chatter and banter bounced around the table, when asked for a topup of his bubbles Aziraphale shook his head “No thanks, wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in public” which rather interestingly caused a flush to darken Crowleys cheeks. Instead he ordered a sparkling water, sat back sipping it, enjoying the camaraderie of the rest of the table.

A quiet voice in his ear drew him from his reverie as Tracy leaned in his direction “Bloody noisy lot, aren’t they Professor?”

“Its all good fun. After all, we were young once too.”

Tracy raked him with a remarkably assessing glance “Still young despite your rather ….interesting… clothing choices. Not even fifty I’m guessing?”

“Actually I turn 48 in a couple of weeks.”

“Do you now? So close to Christmas. That must be fun.”

_Remembering the many years it was completely forgotten unless he actually reminded his family (and they listened) he hid a wince._

“Oh you get used to it being forgotten amongst the bustle” he shrugged “I don’t keep in touch with my family, so I usually just treat myself out to dinner somewhere nice.”

“What day is it?”

“21st Winter Solstice.”

She reached out and gently covered his hand with hers for a moment “Ah yes, the end of the dark times. When the sun returns to us. An auspicious birthday for someone born with starlight in their hair.”

Baffled he stared at her “I beg your pardon?” but before she could reply Crowley interrupted

“Tracy don’t start with the woowoo mystical shit. Aziraphale is a man of science.”

“Actually I have several books on mysticism and witchcraft in my collection. It was a popular subject in my time period.” He reached into a pocket for his card holder, sliding out a business card for Tracy “I’d be delighted to show them to you, dear lady. We can talk further then, if you like.”

Tucking the card into the unknown depths of her clothing she smiled “I’ll bring cake.”

The jangle of the trolley announced the return of the waiter with more food, and they turned their attention to uncovering the surprises contained within each bamboo steamer.

***************************************************  
  
Crowley sat back in his chair, absorbing the hubbub of the room, sipping his sparkling water (only one glass of bubbles as he had to drive). There was something bothering Aziraphale, that much he could tell, but had no idea what or why.  
  
Educated, articulate, a biting wit and dry sense of humour, well travelled, he was a good conversationalist. Willing to listen, debate, happiest poking holes in a weak argument and delighting in the most appalling puns, Crowley was at a loss as to what the issue was.

The kids clearly had no idea what to make of him, Crowley had never bought a ‘friend’ to a work event before, they were dying of curiosity but rightfully wary of pushing their luck with rude questions.

Adam leaned forward “So Professor Fell, how did you manage to pass the test?”

_Oh here we go, little shit stirrer, wait till I get hold of you later_

Aziraphale looked baffled “I’m sorry?”

Pepper swatted Adam on the back of the head “Explanations you idiot” and she turned back to Aziraphale “He means, how did you manage with passing Crowleys Driving Test for Passengers?”

“…….Theres a test?” _god when he bites his lip like that I just want to NRGH!_

“Yeah if you survive a drive with him without tapping out, swearing, or generally freaking out, you earn the right to be a passenger in THE Bentley.”

Watching the blond mans lips twitch in amusement and then ask “How many of you passed it?”

A round of groans from the table “No one!”

Aziraphale raised his glass in salute to Crowley who did the same in reply, trying not to laugh, clearly he wasn’t going to let them in on the secret, but the blonds next words froze Crowley in place in horror

“Well he wouldn’t have to try too hard, my parents were killed in a car accident when I was a child, and I find them a little terrifying as a result.”

Feeling the blood drain from his face Crowley hissed “Bloody hell Angel, why didn’t you remind me?”

_His heart broke a little at the fond sad smile turned his way for a moment, what had happened to him that …. He just accepted being treated however with such equinamity…._

_….or perhaps he didn’t and that was why he was uncomfortable earlier……_

“Not to worry dear boy, Adam can explain how I tap out for next time, hmmm?”

_Adam bloody would if he knew what was good for him, the flinch from the glare Crowley turned his way signalled ‘message received’. Tracy was also frowning, there would be words later….._

Brian, who appeared to be oblivious to the treacherous undercurrents the discussion had ventured into, made a loud EURGGH of disgust followed up by “Who bloody ordered chickens feet? Yuck!”

He proffered the steamer basket filled with crimson chickens feet, sitting with silent menace as everyone took the opportunity to change the subject, and started bickering about who had ordered them.

“If no one else wants them..” stunning the table to silence, Aziraphale had reached out a hand “Last time I tried these was Hong Kong I think.”

He tidily nipped the claws off the end, putting them aside, and delicately chewed his way through most of one foot, putting the bones on his plate. Blue eyes flashing as he surveyed the surprised faces he smiled,

_Oh I know that smile, that’s his about to be a bastard smile, this should be good….._

“My dears, surely chickens feet are not so outre for your palates? What about the ortolan? Birds Nest soup? You realise they use real birds nests?”

Pepper ventured “Whats that dreadful fish they bury in the ground in Iceland, I think?”

Beaming the blond replied “Rakefisk, oh yes that’s quite the experience. Have you tried it?”

Equal parts fascinated and repulsed by Aziraphales tales of culinary experiences, the table grilled him for more stories. Even Crowley was impressed at the range of things he was prepared to put into his mouth.

Wensley asked “Whats the weirdest thing you ate that you really enjoyed?”

Having convinced the kids to try the chickens feet, coaching them through the process (much screwed up faces but mostly for effect) he sat back, a reminiscent smile on his face.

“Well dear boy, there is the most marvellous Wild Foods Festival in New Zealand once a year that I was lucky enough to go to. The Kiwis enjoy giving very misleading names to their ‘special’ foods and then delighting in revealing what they really are, after they have been tasted.”

He sipped his water “I suspect they get more fun out of that than anything else, but yes they did have one special treat I found quite delectable…..”

Working the table like a showman, he made eyecontact with Crowley, saying “Possibly the *most* delicious thing I’ve ever had in my mouth actually….”

_Crowley sat back in his seat, fighting the urge to shift his hips to a more ….comfortable position, sipping at his water to cover his reaction to such a blatant line_

Brian burst out “So what was it then?”

Demurely Aziraphale looked down, glancing up at at Crowley once before addressing the table “Oh they call them Mountain Oysters. But I’m sure your phones will tell you the answer.”

Two things happened almost at once. Crowley spat a mouthful of water across the table, and a round of Ewwwwwws rose from the table, as they discovered the truth behind Mountain Oysters.

Tracy leaned over to murmur “Well played Dr Fell.”

He murmured back “Thankyou my dear lady.”

*****************************************

Shedding the scratchy jumpers with relief, they took their goodbyes of the happily fed and slightly tiddly table.

Aziraphale bowed over Tracy’s hand, pressing a light kiss to the knuckles with a “Je suis enchanté de vous rencontrer chère dame” She blushed, pressed the other hand to her pearls but replied in a Parisienne accented “C'est moi qui suis ravi”

Handshakes from the lads, a brief hug from Pepper and they were out into the rain and sliding into the opulent comfort of the Bentley.

Crowley cranked the heat, commenting “Will warm up soon angel.”

“Not to worry but thankyou.”

They drove with just the music playing for a while, as Crowley threaded them back through the surburban streets, heading back to London on the motorway. Once they were merged into the stream of traffic, he let go of his concentration, glancing to Aziraphale, who looked a little tense, but nothing like how he had been this morning.

_Cursing himself for forgetting such an important thing, admittedly Aziraphale hadn’t told him about how cars made him feel, but had revealed enough to uncover there was some unresolved trauma. Having an all too personal relationship with parent related trauma, Crowley mentally kicked himself for not paying attention to the cues._

_God this man was infuriating, everytime Crowley saw him, another layer or aspect was uncovered. Of course, they both had baggage, you don’t survive to your 40s without it, but Crowley was beginning to sense there were darker depths, now and then something flickered behind those bluegrey eyes. It looked like pain._

_Crowley knew pain intimately, in all senses of the word._

_What had happened to his angel to scar him so deeply? Not only that, but made him feel like he had to hide it?_

Humming along to Heroes by Bowie, seemingly happy in his own head, Crowley didn’t want to interrupt, but felt he needed to say something

“Aziraphale?”

_He would always use his proper name when they were talking about serious, important subjects._

“Mmmmm?”

Crowley shifted, one eye on the traffic and the other on his passenger “Why didn’t you say something?”

“About what Crowley?”

_He’s deflecting, I know he is, softly softly, remember be kind and open, offer something of yourself if you want to build trust_

Gently he replied “I would never want you to be afraid or uncomfortable, Aziraphale. Ever. And if you were, I would want you to tell me. Understand?”

_Hmmm that’s hit a nerve, does he even realise his hands do that when he’s nervous or upset?_

There was a long silence, clearly Aziraphale was mulling over a reply, but what he said was nothing like what Crowley expected.

“Can you fix the world Crowley? Its so loud, so full of people and things. Computers, phones, remote controls with a hundred buttons. I don’t even understand half the words people use these days. Its too much, everything goes too fast for me Crowley. Or I’m too slow for this world.”

_God the bitter despair and hopelessness in that, who made him feel like that? Why would they do that?_

Driving on peripheral vision and instinct, but carefully looking but not looking he said quietly “Hey” and reached out his right hand, resting it on the center console, palm up fingers loosely open in invitation. After a long moment a warm hand slid into his, and he intertwined their fingers with a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah Angel, the world is bloody terrifying most of the time. That’s why its important there are people to remind us to slow down. Take time to smell the roses and stuff.”

Daringly stroking a thumb over the soft knuckles, marvelling at how soft his skin was, Crowley continued,

“That’s why you need to remind me Angel. If I go to fast, or am too much. Will you promise me that?”

Haltingly Aziraphale nodded “I’ll….I’ll try, dear boy.”

With another soft squeeze he gently let go of the other man’s hand “Good, I need my hand back while I’m driving. Gotta tell me what cream you use on your hands though. Mine get rough when I’m working like you wouldn’t believe.”

Gracefully taking the segue to safer waters, Aziraphale began to explain about the right way to handle old books and documents, how very clean dry hands were the most appropriate option. He had firm opinions on the white cotton gloves you saw in the movies.

It was actually interesting, too soon they were pulling up to a parking spot miraculously free in front of the shop. Probably the awful weather keeping punters at home. They sat for a long moment, and as the windows began to fog up a bit, Crowley said quietly

“I have nightmares. Really bad ones. Wake up screaming sometimes. Neighbours called the police once, thought I was being murdered.” He snorted “That was quite the evening, I can tell you.”

Aziraphale undid his seatbelt, turning in his seat to face Crowley “How often?”

Shrugging the redhead replied “Often enough. Its better since I found a good therapist.”

_It used to be every night, and more than once on a bad day. Sometimes he just woke up sweating with a pounding pulse. Sometimes he threw himself out of bed although that hadn’t happened for a while. It was one of the main reasons he had never been able to maintain a long term relationship._

“You seemed to sleep well on my sofa though, that night you were so sound asleep I hated to disturb you?”

“Yeah, well, best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while, actually.”

_Shit I used present tense instead of past, will he notice? Course he will….  
  
_ A thoughtful expression lingered for a moment on the blonds face “Mi casa su casa then, if you ever need it.” He paused “Do you have time for a drink, or….?”

“Sorry Angel, gotta head back to the office. No rest for the wicked.”

Blue eyes sparkled at him for a moment as Aziraphale smirked and said “Quite” before retrieving his jersey and waistcoat from the backseat, exiting out into the rain.  
  
 _It wasn’t till he was halfway back to the office that Crowley realised the implications of what he had just said. Bloody hell, his angel was quick._


	8. Of Consequences and Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallout from the lunch is experienced. Emails are sent and replied to. Plans and plotting are in play.
> 
> Viewpoints from the supporting cast feature in this chapter and some upcoming ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all Merry Festive Season to those who partake. I'm running a bit behind schedule so my Xmas fic is still coming, but here is a chapter to tide you over.
> 
> Rather annoyingly Ive manage to sprain my wrist in my sleep last night and its pretty painful to type at the moment. So apologies for delays.
> 
> Plot wise things are now starting to develop, we have had the meet cute, laid down the bones of our two ineffable idiots characters. Now we bring in more supporting cast who have their own viewpoints, voices and different levels of interaction between our two leading lads. Feedback on how they feel and sound to you is welcome. Both Warlock and Tracy have more parts to play in this story.
> 
> Its going to be a bit fluffy for a while, as they develop their friendship, but be warned there will be angst, and the villain is yet to appear. 
> 
> Unsurprisingly this is likely to be LOTS longer than I originally plotted it LOL. I keep having ideas!

The mood in the van on the way back to the office was quiet, Adam was pretty sure he had crossed a line, both Tracy and Crowley had given him looks that promised words would be had later. Everyone else was just confused, but didn’t want to be the first one to speak out loud. Fingers flashed over phone keyboards though, quick glances and silently mouthed questions left unanswered.

_Golden Boy: WTF???_

_PP: inorite??_

_Nerd: he seemed nice tho_

_WD: yeah, told some good stories, funny guy_

_Golden Boy: but??? Dating Crowley? Like?_

_PP: yeah bit of an odd couple, but opposites attract I guess_

_PP: not looking at anyone in particular here…._

_Golden Boy: I dunno_

_Golden Boy: should check him out, see if hes legit_

_PP: like how?_

_Golden Boy: dunno, after Cs money? Or something_

_PP: yeah nah, guy shops at Savile Row, has a tailor who makes stuff by hand_

_PP: betting hes loaded_

_Nerd: sugar daddy?_

_Everyone: ewwwwwwwwwww BRIAN_

_DarkLord: whatever you are thinking adam DON’T!_

_DarkLord: you really want to piss C off??_

_DarkLord: when you were saying how chill hes been lately?_

_DarkLord: maybe the Prof is why_

_DarkLord: AND ITS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS_

_Golden Boy: but_

_DarkLord: no_

_PP: at the risk of never living this down LET IT GO adam, warlocks right_

Tracy pulled the van into the driveway, idled for a moment before turn off the engine. In a voice that left no space for any argument she said “Conference room, everyone. Now.”

They filed into the large room, where Tracy stood beside the large glass table, she glanced at the surface and said “Phones” and five cellphones were laid face down on the table. Adam threw himself into a chair, Warlock sliding warily into one next to him, Pepper sighed but stayed standing while Brian and Wensley took cover in a corner.

Cool hazel eyes lingered on each of their faces as she let the silence play out, til they were beginning to fidget under the strain, then she spoke in a surprisingly gentle tone

“Tell me children, why are you here? As in, why are you here in this building, this company, doing your jobs?”

More nervous shuffling and exchanged glances until Adam reluctantly spoke (he had become their leader and chief spokesperson)

“Crowley….. he gave us all a chance.”

“He did. I bet he is wondering why after today. I certainly am.”

Adam had the grace to blush at that “But!!”

“Adam, how long have you and Warlock been sleeping together?”

Blushing even harder, Adam winced as Pepper rolled her eyes and punched him not lightly in the shoulder, while Warlock sighed, his soft American accent still noticeable after 8 years back in the UK.

“Point taken Tracy, its none of our business, and we WILL stay out of it, won’t we?” with a cutting glance at the blond boy, who nodded.

“Alright everyone carry on. Adam, stay please.”

Everyone else collected their phones, leaving the room quietly. As the door shut firmly behind Brian, Tracy sighed, took off her glasses and sat down in front of Adam.

“I know you have his best interests at heart my dear, but you cannot possibly know what they are. Not his personal life.”

“We just want him to be happy. Or happier anyway.”

Tracy slid a hand over to Adams and patted it “Of course you do. And he has been, lately, hasn’t he?”

“But he’s all wrong for Crowley, he’s old. And so different!”

“Actually dear, he’s only a couple years older than Anthony.”

Adam looked shocked “Really? He seems so much more.”

“Yes dear, appearances are deceiving, as you well know.” She smiled “I know he matters to you Adam, but there are things about Crowley that you don’t know. Really personal important things.”

She paused “Remember when you found out you were adopted, how upset you were?”

Adam frowned, it had been a devastating shock to him, he loved his parents but had struggled to understand why they hadn’t told him. Crowley had shared his story about being adopted and helped him find a counsellor to talk about it.

“Yeah he was really good about it.”

“But it still bothers you?”

“…. Sometimes.”

Tracy sat forward, lowering her voice “You know about his accident, in Japan?” Adam nodded “Well what you don’t know is it happened after both his parents died. If you ask him, he says it was an accident?”

Adam looked confused but nodded “Fell while doing parkour he said.”

“He almost died Adam, he was in a medical coma for several days.” She paused “It might have been an accident, but I think there was a reason why he was throwing himself off buildings too….”

The blood drained from his face as Adam realised what she meant “Jesus, are you saying….?”

She nodded “I’m saying that you are a great kid, with good intentions. But you need to learn to stay out of things that don’t concern you. Understand?”

Tracy stood and opened her arms for a hug “Come here, you idiot” and they shared a warm hug.

She handed his phone back but hung on as he reached for it “One last thing. Two actually. First, we never had this conversation, and you *never* repeat it to anyone. Second, consider what Crowley will do if you meddle and fuck it up?”

Releasing the phone she smiled at the now very pale blond lad “Right, tell the rest you can all go home early. See you on Monday. Merry Christmas!”

*******************************************  
Thoughtfully Adam headed to the staff room at the back, where he knew everyone would be waiting. What Tracy said had shocked him to the core. Crowley had become like a father to him in many ways, not just a boss, but a teacher and a mentor.

Crowley seemed to have his shit together so completely Adam was struggling to process the concept of him being capable of what Tracy had implied.

He walked in the door to find four expectant faces waiting and sighed “Go home you lot, Merry Christmas from Tracy.”

Pepper stood up “Are you okay, you look a little shaky?”

Feeling it Adam pulled out a chair and sank down into it gratefully “Yeah, just had a few home truths delivered. Still processing.”

Wensley unexpectedly said “Want to talk about it?”

Shaking his head “Nah’m good. Sorry for dragging you into my shit.”

_The other four looked at each other and shrugged, Adam apologising was an uncommon event, and he even sounded sincere._

Pepper jangled her car keys “Alright lets blow this joint before Tracy changes her mind. Who wants a ride to the station?”

Wensley and Brian stood up and grabbed jackets but Adam shook his head “I’ll stay, got some stuff to sort out first.”

Hugs were exchanged, quiet descended as the other three left, leaving only Warlock and Adam who sighed, reaching out a hand “Sorry love.”

Warlock rose, walking over to pull Adam into a bonewrenching hug,

“For once sounds like you mean it. Can’t talk about it huh?”

“Nope. Pain of death and all that.”

“Hmmm wanna come upstairs and get drunk?”

“You know, I really fucking do, actually.”

*************************************************

When Crowley pulled into the driveway, the office was empty of everyone except Tracy, who was clearly packing up to go home early too. Bass music from Warlocks flat in the attic thumped audibly so he was clearly at home.

Tracy looked surprised to see him “Hello love, thought you’d take the rest of the day off?”

Sliding his glasses off he winced, a headache was starting to build “Yeah well felt the need to have a bit of a chat with Adam.”

“No need dear, all taken care of.” She smiled serenely as she donned her coat and gathered up her handbag.

He arched an eyebrow at her “Did you put the fear of God into him then?”

She sailed past him, flicked off the lights, turned and said “Oh no dear, I put the fear of Crowley into him.” Her smile had a lot of teeth in it.

“Fucking Oath” he growled, and together they shut down the office for the holiday period, locking the door behind them.

He gallantly opened her umbrella, holding it over both as he walked her to the passenger side of the Bentley, opening the door, ushering her in. Walking to his side, he shook out the brolly, closed it up, handed to her as he started up the car.  
  
“Paddington Station?”

“Thanks love. So…..did you know it was your Dr Fell’s birthday on the 21st?”

He braked and stared at her “Bloody hell, no I didn’t. How did you…..?” He sighed “Never mind, should be used it by now, you getting anyone to spill their secrets.”

Continuing to back out of the driveway he asked “Any idea on what he wants then?”

Smiling in that annoying smug way, Tracy commented “When was the last time you went to the Ritz, Anthony J. Crowley?”

*******************************************************

Adam was a bit of lightweight, already passed out on the sofa, with a bucket nearby if needed. Warlock smiled at the snoring and almost certainly drooling man, sighed and headed downstairs to make some coffee.

Pulling out the business card that Dr Fell had slipped into his hand, turning it over, staring at it, wondering.

_He had pulled his iPad and Pencil out at lunch, idly sketching scenes, practicing his quick line technique. Letting the conversation flow around him, dropping a comment in here and there to show he was listening, but everyone was used to his drawing habits and left him too it._

_As they were leaving Dr Fell had handed him the business card “I couldn’t help admiring your artwork. I happen to have a lot of bare wall space badly in need of decoration. I would be delighted if you could pop round for lunch one day and offer your advice?”_

Shrugging, Warlock pulled out his phone, opening email, sending a polite note sharing his portfolio website link and information. With a request to advise if he was still interested after viewing it.

_Perhaps gory images of angels with their wings on fire, blood dripping from their wings, being tortured and other nightmare imagery from the dark depths of his brain might change the man’s mind._

A thud and a yell from upstairs announced Adam had fallen off the sofa. It was going to be a long night.

************************************************  
  
Aziraphale sank down into his recliner with a sigh, a small brandy snifter with a generous pour of fine dark cognac offering up its heady perfume as the heat from his hands warmed the liquid.

A few gentle swirls and he savoured the first fragrant sip, allowing it to roll over his palate, savouring the burn down his throat. It had been a long day, all things considered, but not as stressful as he had anticipated.

Lunch had been ….. interesting. The personal dynamics within the group were fascinating, especially to someone who had spent a lot of their life assessing other people to establish the safest way to interact with them.

The kids (as Crowley called them) clearly worshipped the ground he walked on (not that Aziraphale could blame them) where Tracy was the glue that obviously held them all together. He sensed some deeper history between the two of them beyond a working relationship, but would never transgress on Crowleys privacy by asking.

_It was different, seeing Crowley in a social situation, he seemed comfortable with the younger people in a way Aziraphale often envied. Anathema and Newt had spent quite a lot of time educating him on the world view of younger people. It was so different to his own religious oriented background, he struggled to relate._

_Crowley spoke their language, joked comfortably, teased and laughed freely. He was obviously respected but still treated as their social equal. Adams hostility had been a little odd, and he hadn’t missed the glare from a pair of honey amber eyes that promised a likely followup._

_He felt like he scored positive points for dealing with the chickens feet. They had actually been chewy and terrible, but his bravery in calmly tackling the enemy had obvious impact. Next time he might tell them about huhu grubs._

Rubbing his fingers together, he closed his eyes, remembering the smell of Crowley’s cologne in the warm Bentley, stirring up memories of sandalwood, leather and smokey whisky. The feeling of long work chafed fingers entwined with his lingered (he must remember to get a tub of his special handcream, it would make a suitable Christmas present).

_Crowleys plea to be open about how he felt had rather undone him. So much so that he had been entirely too honest, letting out some of those midnight voices, the ones that kept him awake, second guessing all his choices, questioning his interactions, wondering how he was going to be judged and commented on._

_Yet what he got in return was nothing but the offer of simple physical comfort, asking nothing from him other than to reach out and accept it. Then Crowley had offered up his own confession of nightmares and what sounded like rather bad ones. No wonder he had been so dazed when he woke up after sleeping soundly for so long._

The nightly DING from his phone reminded him it was time to check his emails. Rather surprisingly there were two personal ones waiting for him. He had expected one of them and hoped for the other.

Warlock had sent a link to his artist portfolio, which turned out to be exquisitely grisly and disturbing, yet delicately drawn, grippingly emotive and dramatic. Not necessarily what he wanted on his bedroom wall, but the talent of the boy was unmistakable.

His reply was brief and to the point:

**Outstanding work dear boy. Please come to lunch at a day and time that suits you.  
  
Yours, **

**Dr A Z Fell**

The second email was the one he anticipated, from Tracy:

**Dr Fell, how charming it was to meet you today. If I may be so bold, I would be delighted to take you up on your lunch invitation. Weekends would suit me best, I’m free this weekend, and Sunday next.**

**Kind Regards,**

**Tracy Potts**

He decided to have a little fun with his reply and channel a little Regency politeness:

**Madame Tracy, your wish is my fondest command. Does Sunday 8 th suit? 12.30? **

**Yours**

**Dr Aziraphale Fell**

He remembered to add in the shop address before clicking send.

Well then, he had a day to gird his loins. And hunt out the witchcraft books as promised.

*********************************************  
Surprised that his phone was beeping an email alert at nearly 11pm, Warlock switched it to silent, noting it was a reply from Dr Fell. His eyebrows rose at the reply, genuinely startled. He would discuss it with Adam, once he had dealt to his likely epic hangover. So probably on Sunday.

********************************************  
Tracy read her reply on Saturday morning with a smile of satisfaction. She had spent the last thirty years protecting Anthony like her own son, and she wasn’t going to stop now. Adam was way out of his league, but she was used to being underestimated and had long ago weaponised it.

Dr Fell had surprised her, at the end, she wasn’t often surprised, so was looking forward to their lunch.

********************************  
Crowley smiled as he slept, and his dreams were kind. In his sleep, his hand reached out, fingers flexing as if to grasp something that wasn't there.


	9. On Boundaries and Viewpoints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracy and Aziraphale face off over wine and snacks. Turns out neither are quite what they expected.
> 
> Crowley is also in for a few surprises!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tracy bites off a bit more than she can chew, but has the wisdom to be gracious about it. I'm trying to blend a few different story threads into the overall arc, so apologies if this seems to be taking a while to get going. I know what happens and mostly how, but these characters have minds of their own and keep surprising me! I also want to do justice to the supporting characters, giving them depth and value within the wider story. So Im really appreciating all the comments and support :) Its keeping me going!
> 
> Next up a visit from Warlock and then after that a birthday surprise.

Tracy arrived promptly at 12.30, sleekly protected from the constant winter drizzle in a trenchcoat and cloche adorned with what had been a jaunty feather, looking more than a bit bedraggled now.

Aziraphale bustled her upstairs to the warmth of the flat, hanging coat and hat up to dry on the coatstand. Accepting the box from Maison Bertaux with gracious thanks he put it aside, seating her on the sofa, while he attended to providing hot tea.

Having prepared a lunch platter, already laid out with plates on the coffee table between them, and sat back with a smile,

“Dear lady, please, do help yourself. Can I offer a wine, or perhaps something stronger?”

Pausing while assembling a plate of cheese, crackers, grapes and salami she thought for a moment “Perhaps later?”

He sat back comfortably “As you wish. So, how would you like to begin?”

Eyeing him over the teacup, she finished her sip, raising an eyebrow “I’m sorry?”

Aziraphale braced his hands, fingertips together and smiled thinly at her “Shining a light in my eyes? Waterboarding? Perhaps beating the soles of my feet? Sodium pentothal?”

Her smile was warm and gracious, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes “Dr Fell, I hardly think….”

“Quite my dear. Before you play the ‘harmless old woman’ card you should be aware I’ve worked under Matrons who could quell the most arrogant of surgeons with one glance. Twenty odd years in academia which is run by frightening efficient women whose decisions have far more impact than than most oblivious professors realise.”

She set her teacup aside, sat back and assessed him with narrowed eyes and nodded “Good, you aren’t just a bumbling professor then.”

Eyes crinkling appreciation at the cut of the *just* he rose “White or Red?”

“White please. Chardonnay or a nice dry Riesling if you have it.”

Pouring out a Pegasus Bay Riesling he had been saving for a special occasion, he delivered her glass, sat with his in hand, closing his eyes to savour it. A perfect balance of minerals, light, crisp with a flavour that rolled nicely over the tongue. 

Tracy sipped, sighed and sipped again “Ooh very nice Dr Fell. Very nice indeed.”

“Aziraphale, please.”

“It’s a bit of a mouthful. What were your parents thinking?”

He paused and looked away “My grandmother and mother were deeply religious, it runs in the family.”

A stricken expression crossed her face “Oh my dear, I forgot, my apologies. A terrible thing, to lose your parents so young.”

There was genuine compassion in her expression, along with a deeper loss, and Aziraphale began to have hope they might find some common ground.

Saying gruffly “Its kind of you to say dear lady. But you didn’t come here to speak of me, did you?” He sipped his wine “Did Crowley send you?”

The blush rising on her face was answer enough “Does he know you are here?” Tracy met his eyes, sipping her wine but said nothing. He sighed “What do you want Tracy? Are you here to defend his honour? He’s more than capable of that himself.”

But before she could reply he carried on bitterly “Or perhaps you are here to establish if the fat, middleaged bumbling professor is good enough to be his friend? After all we live in different worlds and he is, as the saying goes “way out of my league”. Is that it?

Taken aback at how insightful and self aware he was _it shamed her to admit that was exactly her initial impression too_ she put her wine down, bowed her head for a moment then looked him straight in the eye saying softly “I apologise. You are quite correct, and I am out of line. I should go.”

As she rose to leave he replied “Obviously you care a great deal about him. Enough to want to protect him, which I fully support by the way. I can respect that, if you would do me the kindness of explaining?”

*******************************************  
_Aware that she had badly miscalculated, Tracy weighed her options. Having being outmaneuvered, she was well out of her comfort zone, but the bare honesty in his question touched her._

_Realising that if he was going to become a permanent fixture in Crowleys life, she was going to have to play this carefully. Plus the last comment she had made to Adam ran through her mind, the wrath of Crowley was not to be trifled with. With that she sat down slowly, suddenly grateful for the wine._

A bracing mouthful or two later, she sat back, assembled her hands in her lap “How much do you know about Crowley’s childhood?”

Aziraphale frowned a bit “I know he was adopted, spent some time in fostercare. That he loved his parents, had a rough time at school, and was devastated when they died. Cancer I think?”

All of a sudden her voice changed from the cultivated slightly posh voice she had been using to something more rough, with a decided east london twang.

“Lived a coupla doors down from the family. Good people, kind. She inherited the antique business, he was penniless nobility of some kind, some falling out with the family. Great with his hands, could make anything and they adored each other. But she couldn’t have kids, a medical condition.”

“So they adopted Crowley.”

Tracy snorted “Gawd he was a handful, red hair just like Frances and a temper too! Poor kid hadn’t known a days kindness in his life, and he’d get so angry. Take off and hide.”

_She remembered the first time she found him, maybe seven or so, terribly skinny, all hard angles and such a smart mouth, even at that age. Hunched on her back doorstep, crying hurt angry tears as he kicked his heels on the peeling wood of the steps, she never forgot the sheer terror in his wide open eyes, as he whirled to face her, as she opened the door to find out what the noise was.  
  
She’d spoken to him soothingly like you would a hurt wild animal, left him a glass of milk and some Hob Nobs, asking nothing of him. Silently he ate, drank and left. After the third or fourth visit she found a replacement pack of Hob Nobs on the doorstep._

_Realising his parents might be concerned at his disappearances, she popped into the shop one day for a quiet word. Invited back that evening when the boy was in bed, they talked, and somehow Tracy found herself part of this uncertain new family. She became the safe haven he could retreat to, a different viewpoint he could get balance and context from._

_Despite Tracy’s advice, Frances hid her ovarian cancer diagnosis from Crowley, he was in his first year at Cambridge, and they were so proud of him. She held out long enough to see him graduate and be accepted into a prestigious Masters Program in Japan._

_Then she died and his father lost himself inside every gin bottle he could find, fatally wrapping his car around a tree. Crowley went to Japan but ended up falling off a building three months later, which changed his life forever._  
  
When eventually he limped (literally) back into her life, he was broken, so very broken, and she was the only home he had left. Together they grieved, he got counseling, worked his way through therapists until he found one that understood him.

“He was a good kid, messed up really bad by the system, had a whole heap of feelings he didn’t know how to cope with. Smart though, bloody smart. Got into Cambridge on a scholarship, earned his way into a Masters program. Such a shame……”

“That’s when his parents died?”

“Frances held on such a long time, but ovarian cancer is cruel, she was in so much pain. Gareth was devastated when she died, drank himself to death. Crowley should have asked for a dispensation, losing both parents so close together, could have taken a year off to grieve, but well……”

Lost in her memories, she didn’t notice when Aziraphale quietly rose, and refilled both their glasses with more wine.

His soft cultured voice cut into her thoughts “Thankyou for telling me, dear lady.”

She waved a hand absently “Oh just Tracy, love.”

He replied in a light Sussex accent “Alroight Tracy luv”

Gaping at him for a moment, she burst into peals of laughter “Bloody hell you’re a right one, aintcha?”

He dipped into a reasonably convincing Cockney “Birds ov a feavver, luv.”

“So you know about reinventing yourself then?” the posh was back so he returned the favour.

“More camouflage than anything else, but yes, a time or two.” There was a knowing twinkle in his blue eyes.

Smiling back, honestly this time Tracy said softly “I underestimated you.”

“Yes my dear, most people do.”

_Yet Crowley never had, not even once._

Leaning forward, she raised her glass to him “Truce?”

Gently he tapped his to hers “Truce. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I want ALL the stories, there must be epic tales of mischief and pranks. Anything you can tell me I want to hear.”

She pulled the discarded plate of food back into her lap, settling back into the exceedingly comfy sofa “Going to need more wine.”

“Bathtubs of it at your service. Lay on dear lady, lay on.”

_They talked well into the afternoon, heading out for dinner at a local Thai place Aziraphale was fond of. Stories were exchanged, he told her a little about himself. Made her laugh with stories about patients he encountered while he was nursing, tales from some of the countries and cities he had visited._

_While friendship might take a while to develop, they were certainly allies, with Crowleys best interests at heart._

As Tracey was donning her coat to head out, she paused, turning back to Aziraphale “Your first instinct was to protect him, do you realise that?”

Startled, he stood with her hat in his hand, ready to hand to her “I don’t understand?”

Tracy finished buttoning her coat “You knew why I was coming, but rather than defend yourself, you protected him. Instinctively if I had to guess.”

“I’m not quite sure what to say to that?” He was caught offguard.

She placed her hat at a risqué angle “Well I could tell you that not once in the entire time I’ve worked with him has he bought a friend to the office. Other than you.”

Tracy reached out a hand and grasped his in both of hers “Clearly he matters to you. I’m not sure if you are aware how much you matter to him?”

Speechless he stood there, processing that as she raised on tiptoe, and with a wave of Chanel No5, pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

“You’re a good man Dr Aziraphale Fell, the kind of good the world needs more of. We should do this again.”

He bowed over her hand, careful dry lips to her knuckles “Madame, I am at your service.”

She laughed gaily as she made her way down the stairs, sailing out into the evening.

Aziraphale locked up the shop, turned the lights out, ventured upstairs, and poured himself a whisky.

“One down, one to go.”

********************************************************

**AJC: how was your weekend?**

**_Angel: Quite lovely, thankyou. Yours?_ **

**AJC: bloody busy, end of year finance reports, gotta be done**

**AJC: no rest for the wicked**

**_Angel: So I hear_ ** **_😊_ **

**AJC: what are you implying…?**

**_Angel: Your Tracy came to visit today. We had a lovely catchup._ **

**_Angel: So many stories!_ **

**_Angel: :-P_ **

**AJC: so help me! what did she say????**

**AJC: angel!!**

**_Angel: Calm down dear boy, I can hear you growling from here._ **

**AJC: can you what**

**_Angel: Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much…._ **

**AJC: are you fucking quoting Austen at me?**

**_Angel: Oh dear lord! Its Hamlet, you heathen._ **

**AJC: told you I liked the funny ones**

**AJC: are you going to make me come over there and beat it out of you?**

_(long pause before the reply arrives)_

**_Angel: That was an option I hadn’t considered, actually._ **

**AJC: WTF!**

**_Angel: What’s that truly appalling line the kids use these days?_ **

**_Angel: Oh yes. Calm your tits, Crowley._ **

_(another long pause while Crowley stares in disbelief at his phone)_

**AJC: am I having an aneurysm?**

**_Angel: I work in a University full of students. One picks up a few things_ ** **_😊_ **

**_Angel: Regardless, Tracy didn’t give away all your secrets. Although apparently I will have to stock up on Hobnobs._ **

**_Angel: But you will tear the Jaffa Cakes out of my cold dead hands._ **

**AJC: LOL you can have them, bloody awful things**

**AJC: surprised you would lower yourself to such coarse offerings!**

**_Angel: Everyone needs comfort foods, dear boy._ **

**_Angel: Oh and I’m throwing out my Golden Syrup. Just to be safe_ ** **_😊_ **

**AJC: for the love of! That was ONE TIME!!!**

**AJC: still hasn’t bloody let that go after fucking 30 yrs**

**_Angel: For good reason from the sounds of things!_ **

**AJC: yeah well she did make me clean it up**

**AJC: learned my lesson**

**_Angel: Which was?_ **

**AJC: explosions are for outside, not inside**

**AJC: did she tell you she made me write that out like hundreds of times**

**_Angel: I’m delighted that she did not. I will ask her next time we have lunch_ ** **_😊_ **

**AJC: theres gonna be a next time?**

**AJC: im fucked!**

**AJC: kill me now before I die of embarrassment**

**AJC: is that even possible?**

**AJC: how hard do I have to try?**

**_Angel: Not to worry, I found the stories quite charming. Adorable even._ **

**AJC: oh good, shes clearly making it all up then**

**AJC: nothing adorable here**

**_Angel: Nonsense._ **

**AJC: think I know better**

**_Angel: Other points of view are also valid._ **

**_Angel: A useful thing a therapist once said to me._ **

**_Angel: Its late, don’t let me keep you. Sleep well, dear boy._ **

**AJC: yeah night angel**

Crowley lay back against the charcoal sheets and pillows, one hand tangled in his hair, staring at his phone in confusion. What had just happened?

“Ngk. What the fuck is Tracy up to?”

He scrolled back through to the top of the discussion, reading it again, smiling. Sassy angel. Calm your tits indeed. And what had he been thinking about for so long before Crowleys only half serious offer to beat the truth out of him had been sent?

_It almost feels like…..he’s flirting with me. Or testing the boundaries anyway…._

_Maybe I won’t yell at Tracy after all…._


	10. On the Merits of Books and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock takes the Professor up on his invitation to visit. Expectations are .....adjusted. Perhaps too much whisky is drunk. But its the good stuff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *************************************************
> 
> This went in all kinds of different directions from what I had planned. I always felt like Warlock got the short straw as a character but as a person as well, and wanted to explore that a bit more. Find some common ground between him and our Angel.
> 
> So I hope I found his voice and personality, its hard to build that in one chapter, but Ive tried!  
> **********************************************************

Warlock looked a little stunned as he wandered into the staffroom, grabbed a Coke out of the fridge, cracked it open and took a generous mouthful. Brian (who had eventually learned not to talk with his mouth full) poked Pepper with an elbow, nodding at Warlock.

“Sup?” she asked, giving her minestrone a stir, the steam rising off it as it cooled a bit.

“Tracey gave me the day off tomorrow.”

“Thought you were going to see the Prof?” Brian had finally chewed and swallowed.

“Yeah, that’s why.” He frowned “Said it would be educational for me and I should take the day.”

“Like paid?” this had stopped even Brian in his tracks.

Warlock shrugged “Can swing by Shepherds in the morning, need some new sketchbooks. So not a wasted trip.”

Pepper pulled out her phone, tapping at the screen “I’ve got some fabric samples to pick up, can go in the morning and give you a ride if you want?”

Wondering what on earth he was in for, Warlock smiled at her “Ta.”

********************************************

Having spent a good hour working his way through specialty art papers in Shepherds, leaving them with a delivery to courier back to the office, Warlock wandered his way to Victoria Station, changing at Green Park for Piccadilly. While he had been in London now for several years, it was a big city, Soho was less familiar territory.

He had time to stop in the café Crowley had mentioned, warm up in front of the fire (American aircon was efficient but it was soulless) while savouring a decent hot chocolate, loaded with whipped cream. It was nice, to sit in the slightly battered sofa, people watching. His fingers itched to sketch the interesting faces, but he too easily lost track of time doing that, and he had an appointment to keep.

Standing outside the rather dingy looking façade of A.Z Fell and Co, uncertain why he was here, Warlock snugged his sleek leather satchel in close, walked up the steps, opened the door and walked into book heaven.

_Wow, Crowley wasn’t kidding when he said it was a personal library. There must be thousands of books in here…._

Amazed at the collection he wandered the shelves, mindful not to touch anything. Most of the books looked old, many of them fragile and while he had no idea, he suspected many of them were valuable.

Bibles and books on religion were a primary theme, but there was art, architecture, poems, stories, biographies, languages, science, witchcraft, magic with no obvious method of organisation. Certainly no Dewey decimal system _dare_ intrude its way here.

There were tubes with labelled caps stacked here and there, and a large glass cabinet full of what Warlock suspected were the most valuable or rarest books. It was a treasure trove of impressive proportions, and when Warlock finally rounded the corner to find its owner waiting with a quiet smile on his face, he had the distinct impression of a dragon protectively mantling wings over its precious hoard.

Swallowing a little nervously he said “Crowley didn’t do it justice, how he described your collection.”

One elegantly risen eyebrow was the only response so he carried on “He said it was amazing. But he didn’t say it was Aladdin’s Cave!”

“You like books?” asked their guardian.

Warlock smiled “You could get high on the smell of this place. I love books.”

Dr Fell smiled brightly at him “In that case, we should get on famously. Do come upstairs, I have lunch waiting.”

Warlock followed the blond man up the scarily steep stairs, pausing on the threshold of the doorway to the flat, gazing around with a low whistle

“Oh my god, Pepper would freak out to see this place.” His eyes darted from the original polished floors, mahogany and teak cabinets, carved marble fireplace taking in all the details. Yet modern elements existed, carefully chosen furniture blended together with an elegant colour palette. The artist in him appreciated it.

“Come in, get settled.”

Shucking his satchel, jacket and scarf, Warlock sank gingerly onto the throw covered sofa, to find it just the right amount of comfortable. Tucking a cushion behind him, he sat, facing the blond who was hovering

“What can I get you to drink? Tea? Coffee? Or, soda as I think you Americans call it?”

 _Bloody accent_ “Actually technically I’m British. I was born here, lived here til I was eleven.” Shrugging “Dad worked for the Government doing diplomatic things so we moved around a lot after that.”

“Also I’m allergic to tea and coffee, so Coke if you have it. Or hot chocolate or cocoa?”

Dr Fell looked devastated “You’re allergic to tea? Oh that’s dreadful!” and Warlock smiled wryly. Being allergic to the national drink made him even more of an oddity, but it was what it was.

“Only if I drink some.”

“Well cocoa we absolutely have. Whipped cream? Marshmallows?”

“Sure. Go nuts. Can I give you a hand?”

“Very kind but….” Dr Fell gestured at the tiny kitchen “Its under control.”

As he poured milk into a saucepan, took a block of chocolate out of the panty to grate it on the counter, Warlock realised Crowley hadn’t been kidding when he said that Dr Fell had a bit of a thing for food. He wandered over, leaning against the counter, smiling.

Dr Fell glanced up at him, while he was stirring the chocolate into the steaming milk “Did I say something amusing?”

“Oh no, Crowley just said that….. you had a bit of a thing for food that’s all.” He gestured to the grand cocoa production.

Dr Fell narrowed his eyes at him for a moment before replying rather tartly “You can tell Crowley that he has a thing for his car, in the same way I have a thing for food.”

_Well that touched a nerve and staying TOTES the hell away from whatever it is!_

Measuring cocoa powder into the saucepan, he kept stirring gently before asking quietly “What pronouns should I address you with?”

Startled, Warlock stared at him “Ummm no one’s ever asked me that before? But he/him?”

Getting a spoon out of the draw to dip into the cocoa and taste it, Dr Fell added some honey and had another taste.

“I’m he/him as well. I wasn’t sure if you identified as non binary, and its polite to ask. Slide the mugs over, there’s a dear.”

In short order, two mugs were filled with rich cocoa, generously topped with whipped cream and plump marshmallows, a delicate sprinkle of cinnamon on top. They adjourned back to the sofa, and Dr Fell indicated the platter “Help yourself, dear boy. Sing out if you need anything else.”

Warlock sipped his cocoa, closing his eyes “Oh that’s really good.”

Dr Fell smiled over his own “My special recipe, it’s the extra chocolate and honey.”

They got comfortable, snack plates filled and quiet descending as they ate. Eventually Dr Fell sat back with a sigh.

“I was very impressed with your art. The imagery is graphic and compelling. Beautifully rendered.”

Wiping a smear of butter off his thumb, Warlock gestured to the room they were in “You said you had lots of bare walls?”

Blushing a little _and it looked delightful on him, how is that even possible?_ “Oh yes, silly me, I should have shown you that first.” He rose “If you would follow me?”

Walking to the far corner “Mind the drop.” Dr Fell led him into a rather oddly shaped bedroom, with floor to ceiling bare white walls on three sides, windows out over the street on the fourth.

He gestured in the general direction of the king sized bed saying grandly “This is what I asked you here for!”

Warlock choked, unable to hold back surprised laughter “Did you seriously just say that?”

Puzzled Dr Fell looked at Warlock, then played back what just happened, stepped back and blushed furious red across his face “Oh! Oh no! Well, yes but…..Oh dear….”

“Hey, its okay, was just…..unexpectedly funny. Plus I really didn’t think you wanted my goth fallen angel art all over your bedroom walls?”

He paused “Well, maybe you do and I shouldn’t be one to judge I guess?” He turned in place “It’s a fabulous space though, someone could have a lot of fun with this.”

Turning back to Dr Fell he shrugged “Did you have some ideas?”

Visibly gathering himself Dr Fell nodded “Lets finish off lunch and chat, perhaps?”

They resumed their seats in front of the fire, Dr Fell leaned back saying “May I tell you a story? It will help explain a few things.”

“Sure, so long as I get another cocoa at the end of it?”

Blue eyes twinkled at him “You drive a hard bargain, dear boy. Of course. Now, as is traditional, once upon a time there was a family. Mother, Father and two brothers. Mother was very religious and bought them up according to Christian virtues, ensured they married suitable wives.”

“Both families were blessed with children early, the oldest son graced with his own son a couple of months before his brother was graced the same way. However the oldest son only had the one child, his wife had struggled with the pregnancy and was not strong, and lost two to miscarriages, much to the families grief.”

“The second son was blessed with a further two girls but all three had different mothers. He was not an easy man to live with, hard, inflexible with his opinions. Narrow minded and rigid. Eventually it was just him and the three children and a parade of nanny’s until the children were old enough to be sent to school.”

“However the oldest grandson lived a charmed life, tutors and governesses retained to school him, trips to the continent to refine his languages. Lessons in horse riding, archery, fencing, dancing, music, everything an educated man should know. His parents were also deeply religious, but theirs was a gentler, more inclusive kind. They looked to embrace the good in people, rather than punish the perceived wrongs instead.”

“Eventually, as all things must, the happy times ended when the boys parents were tragically killed in a car accident in a dreadful storm one night. Grieving, bereft he was foisted upon his nearest relations who happened to be his uncle and cousins. The next two years of his life were a living hell.”

_Warlock held his breath, not daring to even consider interrupting what was clearly a deeply personal story._

Dr Fell resumed “The uncle was a bitter man, a jealous second son, and even though the family was rich, and he was financially taken care of, it wasn’t enough. Using his position as guardian, he pillaged what he could access of the orphans inheritance. Meanwhile his attitudes had been passed on to his children, the boys cousins. They mocked and tormented him, called him soft and effeminate for enjoying things like poetry and music. The male cousin in particular delighted in bullying him, until eventually the boy ended up in hospital with a badly broken arm.”

Unconciously Dr Fell was rubbing at his left arm above the elbow but he carried on “Traumatised, terrified the boy begged his grandfather to take him in instead. The grandfather who now lived a batchelor existence in a flat over an old bookshop in Soho that the family had forgotten about. His wife had died many years earlier, and grieving the loss of his oldest son, he left the family estate.”

“Initially the grandfather was reluctant to care for a child, particularly one prone to panic attacks, depression and well on the way to developing major anxiety issues. But he was kind to the boy, patient, eventually he heard the truth of what had happened. Furious, he cast out his other son, disowning his rights to the family fortune. Which only made them take against the boy even more.”

“When eventually the grandfather died, when the boy was now a young man in his twenties, he left everything to him. This enraged the uncle and cousins who fought it bitterly in the courts, until, tired of the drama, he bought them off.”

“But by then he had lost his faith in God and religion. Only going to church for Christmas and Easter, doing his best to live a life of kindness and grace in a world that seemed to have forgotten the existence of both words.”

There was a long silence as Dr Fell slowly returned to himself, he smiled sadly at Warlock “I could see my pain and anger in your images, betrayal, sacrifice, loss, perhaps a little self hatred in there as well?”

Uncertain what to say, Warlock just nodded jerkily “Dear boy, I need you to know that I understand, I don’t know your story. But I do know we all have one. If you ever need someone to listen, my door is always open to you.”

Suddenly fighting the hot swell of tears Warlock choked out “Why? Why would you even care? My parents didn’t and you are a stranger!”

“As Yeats famously said ‘There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't yet met’ and we have met twice now.” Dr Fells eyes were kind “If you would be more comfortable leaving, then go with my blessing, for what its worth. But I saw so many questions contained in your art. Questions I won’t have all the answers to, but one thing I do know, is that talking about it can often help.”

Reluctantly Warlock asked “Who do you talk to?”

“Several therapists over the years. Occasionally a priest.” He smiled “When I was your age it often involved getting rather drunk and yelling at the sky. Very loudly.”

Snorting a laugh Warlock said “Oh yeah, gin does that.”

“It’s the demon drink indeed. Can I offer you something else then?”

“Got any Talisker?”

Dr Fell laughed and wandered to the drinks cabinet “If Crowley hasn’t drunk the last of it.” He poured a finger each into two cut glass tumblers, handing one to Warlock. They clinked glasses and he sat down again, but didn’t speak and the silence lingered.

_Warlock smiled in appreciation, his father had taught him the value of silence in a negotiation, one of the few lessons he had taken the time to teach his son._

_He let the quiet draw out because there was something teasing at the back of his brain, something to do with angels, something he had heard and noted in passing, but not really registered until…….ah there it was…._

“Crowley, he called you Angel, at lunch?”

Sipping lightly at his own whisky Dr Fell smiled “Yes it’s a play on the meaning of my name. Do you know it?” Warlock shook his head “I’m assuming you know the story of Eden, yes?” A nod “Well there were four guardian angels assigned to watch the walls. The Angel of the Eastern Gate was named Aziraphale.”

Relishing the burn of his own whisky Warlock ventured “That’s quite a mouthful.”

Dr Fell laughed “Yes Crowley complained of the same thing, decided to call me Angel instead.” _His attention shifted, he smiled at a memory, it was soft, fond and surprisingly sweet._ “Its technically accurate so…” He shrugged.

“Yeah Warlock causes me enough grief” sliding black painted fingernails through his sleek wings of blueblack hair “Most people assume it’s a goth thing, so I let them think what they like.”

Dr Fell murmured “They will regardless.”

_Remembering the side glances, not so quiet snide comments, outright bullying. Done carefully out of sight of his security team, subtle messages on social media, pretend friendships to curry favour with his parents._

_In America he sounded too English, in England he sounded only American. Moving around so often he never got the chance to settle, to make friends. The weird kid, with the accent and fucking strange name, who had armed guards but no one knew why._

_Yeah, people had a lot of opinions, his father was never around to give a shit, and his mother only thought about her next glass of gin. Little wonder he found solace in books and art. They didn’t leave him, hurt him, blame him for imagined wrongs or use him as a pawn in ongoing marital disputes._

_Saving up as much money as he could, escaping back to England with the excuse of going to college there, much to his surprise, he got accepted to London’s University of the Arts (UAL). There he met Pepper, and Brian. Adam and Wensley were studying at nearby Cass, the four of them sharing a grimy but cheap third floor walkup._

_When Warlocks trust fund was finally released, they upgraded to a much nicer flat that fitted the five of them into three bedrooms. Because of his weird education, he was a year ahead of them, had branched out into professional work, someone shared his Instagram feed with Crowley, and the rest was….history._

“Yeah.” He sighed _probably should stick with just the one whisky_ “Its hard, not fitting in anywhere. Always being different.”

“They say children adapt much easier” the professors voice was laden with sarcasm “They have no bloody idea because most adults never pay that much attention to children to start with.”

He nodded to Warlock “Busy distracted parents are just as bad as absent ones. Probably worse, I suspect?”

Swirling the potent alcohol in his glass, Warlock frowned “One of my Secret Service guys taught me how to throw ball, ride a bike and drink beer.” _His turn to be lost in memory for a moment._

“Mom showed me how to pretend everything was okay, when it was really fucking horrible.” He put on a falsetto voice “But what other people think is so important, darling.”

He shrugged “Learned enough to keep them happy and then got out of there, soon as.”

Dr Fell smiled “Found your own family, the people who see you and love you anyway.”

Smiling back “Yeah, something like that” he swallowed the last of the Talisker, savouring the smoky burn “So, who’s your family then?” Warlock queried idly.

_He wasn’t expecting the look of profound grief, almost despair to briefly appear. Those insightful blue were haunted, while he made a brave attempt to smile, that was all it was._

“Oh my dear boy, for an old introvert like myself, well my books are my family.”

Warlock took a moment to pick at the flaking polish on one thumb, carefully not looking at Dr Fell as he commented “Yeah, well books can’t hurt you, or abandon you” taking a sideways glance, but continuing “They can’t hug you, look after you, listen to you. Books are a solace or an escape, but they aren’t a family.”

Still picking at the polish, he heard Dr Fell draw in a shaky breath, watching hands tighten on the arms of the recliner in his peripheral vision.

_Despite telling Adam to butt out, now seemed as good a time as any to make his play…._

Warlock stood, stepped around the food laden coffee table, stepped to the edge of Dr Fells personal space, with his arms open, palms out in an inviting manner

“Crowley is kinda our Dad, so that pretty much makes us the family you didn’t know you had? Maybe…our Uncle?”

A wavering smile that firmed at Warlocks last words, Dr Fell slowly rose and embraced Warlock in a firm brief hug.

“Nothing would make me happier. You are kindness itself.”

Warlock laughed as he sat down again “Oh hell no! I’m moving in downstairs, gonna read EVERYTHING I can get my hands on. In between topups of your extra special cocoa!”

“As I said before, you do drive a hard bargain. Let us negotiate terms then. But first, yes I do owe you more cocoa. This time with a tot of brandy?”

Assuming a truly appalling RP accent Warlock replied “Tut tut, corrupting a minor, what?”

Dr Fell gave him one very assessing head to toe look, with an entirely too camp wiggle “Oh good lord! You work for Crowley, I’m very sure he has lead you quite astray!”

“Not as much as you’d think.” He felt his face heat “There are some things, personal stuff, you can’t talk to your….boss… about.”

“You and Adam?”

Settling into the bar stool tucked under the tiny bench, Warlock sank his elbows onto the marble surface, resting his head in his hands and groaned “Is it that obvious?”

Pushing the chocolate, board and grater over to Warlock, Dr Fell smiled “A lot of your work bears a striking similarity to him, the happier images.”

_Grumbling not quietly under his breath about making guests work for their cocoa as he carefully grated chocolate, stealing a few broken bits to snack on._

He pushed it back to the professor who did the terribly cute eye twinkling thing at him “My students call me Dr F for short, if you like?”

Nodding at the liquor cabinet “Could you be a dear and grab the brandy? Then we can have a good old chat.”

******************************************************

A little more hungover than he expected, Warlock groaned as he came down for breakfast, later than usual. The rest of the Crew were making their morning coffees, staring at him in surprise. Warlock wasn’t often drunk. Legacy from his mother.

Adam grabbed a Coke out of the fridge, cracked it open and shoved into his waiting hand, while Pepper set about grabbing bacon, toast and eggs, preparing for a fry-up.

Letting Warlock soak in his misery, at least until the caffeine kicked in, Wensley and Pepper got on with the cooking, while Brian got out plates and handled the toast. All was organised chaos until Crowley strode in, gaze on his phone, then stopped, taking in the tableau.

“You look like death warmed up. More than usual.” He snorted “What the hell happened to you?”

Having swallowed down enough caffeine and sugar to kick his brain online Warlock croaked “Not a what. A who. Your bloody professor. Drinks like a fish.”

A toothy grin “Yeah but he’s got the good stuff.”

“Well he’s out of Talisker now” Warlock winced.

Sliding his way sideways into a kitchen chair, Crowley sat down to enjoy the show “Water, food and painkillers will help.” He nodded at Pepper “Good job, love, fry-up’ll do you a treat.”

They waited while Warlock slowly and carefully attacked his breakfast, Crowley grinning toothily as he stole a bit of bacon.

“So how’d it go then?” Adam finally asked, the whole room burning with curiosity as he slid a large glass of water and a couple of round white pills next to Warlock.

Taking time to wash them down with most of the water, the dark haired man pondered for a moment “It was good, not what I was expecting but good.”

Frustrated glances darted round the room but Crowley drawled “Aaaannnnd?” He was on his second coffee for the morning, and was getting a bit twitchy.

Rubbing his eyes Warlock stretched, awake enough now to enjoy torturing them all for a moment

“Well, I kinda adopted him. Thinks books are his only family. Fucking saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” Twitching his shoulders, he sat forward addressing Crowley “You’re our Dad, so he’s our Uncle.”

Everyone silently processed that for a moment, and Warlock decided to go all in,

“And he says he has a thing for food, the way you have a thing for your car. Whatever that means.”

Crowley choked on his mouthful of coffee, gasping until he was laughing “That bastard.” He wandered away, leaving everyone staring in his wake.

Wensley uncharacteristically spoke first “Like, what just happened?”

Warlock smiled very evilly “I did.”

_He refused to explain any further, did his own dishes as punishment, and everyone elses as well. Eventually he wandered into Tracy’s office, said quietly “You were right, thanks.”_

_She smiled breezily at him “Of course I was, now sit down and tell me everything.”_

_He sat, sharing enough that she was satisfied, tipping an imaginary hat to him “Well played, young padawan. But be careful.”_

_Warlock had seen the way Crowleys face had lit up as he was laughing, eyes bright._

_“Yeah, its up to them now.”_


	11. Plans within Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last minute drama rearranges everyones schedules, Crowley finally invites Aziraphale to his secret surprise birthday dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******************************************  
> I'm drinking whisky on NYE (it happens in 22 minutes here) and writing so here is a cute short fluffy chapter.
> 
> More flirting! As requested  
> ******************************************

**A couple of days later**

“FUCK!” Crowley stormed into Tracy’s office staring at his phone “Have you seen this email?”

Tracy lowered her glasses down her nose, frowning at him “The one from Sophia or the one from Italy?”

“What? Fuck…” with a growl he sank into the chair she kept specially for the boss’s visits “Two weeks before Christmas. ARRGH!”

Tracy began tapping on her keyboard “I suggest you fly to Genoa rather than drive, will save you two days. Do you want to go tomorrow or wait until Monday?”

“Why am I going to Genoa?”

“That precious Carrara marble shipment? The one that’s held up in customs.”

“The one that our customs agent *should* be handling?”

Tracy glared at him over her glasses “The customs agent who has apparently broken her collarbone in a nasty fall and is in hospital.”

Rubbing a hand over his stubbled cheeks Crowley sighed “So Sophia is out of action. And I speak Italian” he flapped a hand at her “Book me a one way for tomorrow. Dunno how long it will take. Bloody Italians and their paperwork.”

“Blame Brexit dear, it’s making everyone twitchy. I’ll sort you a rental and a hotel room.”

Crowley quirked his most charming smile at you “What would I do without you?”

Tartly Tracy replied “Pray you never have to find out. Now shoo, you’ve got lots to do before you go. Round up the troops. DELEGATE!”

“Yeah yeah” He rearranged himself upright “Hey Tracy, make the rental a Ducati. Might as well have some fun while I’m at it.”

**********************************************************

Anticipating being away for nearly a week, it took most of the day to rearrange his schedule, passing tasks and appointments off to the team. This close to Christmas they were tidying things up for the year, but his was a business with a lot of moving parts.

Picking up a curry on his way home, he poured out a craft IPA, tearing the naan into shreds, dipping it into curry sauce. _Can’t go wrong with a good Tikka Masala._

Hungry enough to need the fuel, he ate most of the meal, sitting back to check his personal calendar. Shit, he had dinner planned with Aziraphale tomorrow, plus the secret birthday dinner he hadn’t yet invited him too. _Okay lets kill two birds with one stone, how is that even possible…..Jesus focus you idiot…_

It was past 11pm but he knew his Angel would be most likely up, so settled in for some texting:

**AJC: hey angel u there?**

**_Angel: Its late Crowley, is everything alright?_ **

**AJC: nah got some work issues, have to cancel dinner tomorrow**

**_Angel: Well that’s a shame, but of course. Anything I can do?_ **

**AJC: can you magically get 2 ton of marble from Lyon to Dover?**

**_Angel: Sadly no. What on earth has happened?_ **

**AJC: customs bullshit, my agent is in hospital, long story**

**AJC: off to Italy to sort it**

**AJC: could take a few days**

**AJC: can we reschedule for say, 21 st? should be back by then**

_(long pause in the reply)_

**_Angel: Yes of course dear boy. Are you taking the Bentley?_ **

**AJC: love to, but don’t have time, flying over**

**AJC: got the next best thing tho :-)**

**_Angel: ?_ **

**AJC: (sends pic of a bright red Ducati)**

**_Angel: !!!_ **

**AJC: perfectly safe**

**_Angel: Because you are going so fast no one can touch you?_ **

**AJC: LOL smartarse**

**_Angel: Please tell me you wear a helmet!_ **

**AJC: yeah got full leathers, all good**

**_Angel: I want proof, please._ **

**AJC: you want to see me dressed head to toe in black leather?**

**AJC: ….kinky!**

**_Angel: Added bonus. I want you to be safe Crowley._ **

**_Angel: Promise me._ **

**AJC: photos? Or my safety?**

**_Angel: Both, if you please._ **

**AJC: yeah ok, daily updates so you know im still alive**

**_Angel: Thank you, my dear. See that wasn’t so hard?_ **

_(another pause while Crowley got up and poured a generous whisky)_

**AJC: depends on how you feel about leather…**

**_Angel: You make anything look good, and well you know it._ **

**AJC: making me blush here angel**

**AJC: clashes with my hair, not a good look**

_(another long pause in the reply)_

**_Angel: Nonsense, I’m sure you look quite delectable._ **   
  
**AJC: its all about the food with you!**

**AJC: that reminds me, whatcha doing Xmas day?**

**_Angel: I didn’t really have any plans, actually._ **

**AJC: good, don’t make any, talk later**

**AJC: sorry gotta pack, flying out tomorrow**

**_Angel: Travel well, Crowley._ **

**AJC: Remember, dinner 21 st c u then**

***************************************************

Writing himself a note to cancel his usually birthday dinner reservation, Aziraphale smiled at his phone. It was oddly liberating, having a conversation at a distance with someone. You could ….. say things that would be too dreadfully embarrassing to say face to face.

Or you could carefully phrase things to said ….. more than you were saying…..if one was so inclined to construe it that way.

**************************************************

Crowley had no idea if Aziraphale was deliberately flirting with him, it was so hard to read tone into text sometimes. Plus he didn’t seem like the sexting type, but his angel was constantly surprising him.

But the _Added bonus_ was pretty on the nose….so to speak.

_Crowley had pretty good game with his phone camera, so he laid his leathers out on his bed, taking a whole heap of detail shots, ready to tease just hints of the whole, until the last image….._

_Yeah….that’ll do nicely…_


	12. A week in Genoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowleys week in Genoa proves to have some rather unexpected side benefits.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***************************************************  
> Everyone seems to be enjoying the phone flirting, so I decided to work it into this chapter, and up both boys game....
> 
> Note I don't speak Italian so forgive any grammar mistakes, but I wanted to give enough flavour to the chapter. Let me know how I did!
> 
> Also check out the link in the end notes
> 
> *************************************************

The throaty bass thrum of the Ducati turned heads as he slowly weaved his way down the tree lined Via Corsica to the Meliá Genova, where hopefully he was booked into the Presidential Suite. If he had to stay in a hotel, at least he could do it in style.

After parking the bike, he opted for room service and a soak in the sumptuous spa bath on the terrace, sipping a lime and soda while admiring the city lights. While a milder climate than the UK in December, it was still chilly enough for him to soak the travel aches out of his hip and then head inside.

Tomorrow he would reacquaint himself with the city layout, then on Monday he would head to the Port Authority and start the painful process of sorting out whatever bureaucratic issue there was.

But first…..

**AJC: [sends wide angle shot of hotel room]**

**AJC: [sends shot of fancy sofa]**

**AJC: [sends shot of bed]**

**AJC: [sends wide angle shot of view from balcony including spa pool]**

**AJC: [sends shot of wet legs canted casually on edge of spa pool, with city night lights blurry in the distance]**

**AJC: made it to genoa angel :-)**

**_Angel: Travelling in style dear boy!_ **

**AJC: style is my middle name**

**_Angel: Doesn’t it start with J?_ **

**_Angel: You never did tell me what it stands for…._ **

**AJC: just a j really**

**_Angel: Hmmm well I look forward to more hot tub shots_ **

**_Angel: in bocca al lupo_ **

**AJC: ciao**

*******************************************

**MONDAY IN GENOA**

Thankful Italy was an hour ahead, Crowley enjoyed the extra hours sleep. By lunchtime he was fed up with the run around he fully expected but had hoped would be less ….irritating.

Fortunately there was an array of cafes, restaurants and wine bars, most still open in the winter off season. He could tease his angel with photos in an entirely different way….

**AJC: [shot of fettucine carbonara, loaded with bacon]**

**AJC: [shot of a quite nice bottle of Alsace Riesling with a glass full next to it]**

**AJC: lunch!**

Duly fortified, he headed back to the Port Authority, inching ever closer to his prey….

**AJC: [night shot of the city lights reflected in the harbour waters]**

**AJC: [shot of a candlelit table, delicious looking steak and vegetables, dark red wine in a glass nearby]**

**AJC: fuck ive earned this!**

**_Angel: things not going well?_ **

**AJC: nah just frustrating**

**AJC: food almost makes it worth the trip tho**

_**Angel: Try the crepes, my favourite.** _

**AJC: will keep an eye out**

_(later that evening)_

**AJC: [artistic selfie of Crowley in side profile lolling in the hot tub, top of chest and shoulders bare above the water , wet ends of hair slick on his pale skin]**

**TUESDAY IN GENOA**

Having wasted the morning still chasing his tail, Crowley mooched around looking for a nice spot to get selfies of him and the bike, as promised. Churches and gorgeous architecture filled the city, finding somewhere he could park the bike with a nice viewpoint filled up an hour as he idled his way around the back streets.

Tempted by a small side street that ended in a picturesque stone archway, wrought iron gates closed in front, afternoon light glancing sideways to fill the space, Crowley manouvered the bike in, kicked out the stand, took of his helmet, shook out his hair with a sigh of relief. Stuffing his gloves inside his helmet, tucking it in the corner out of camera, he pulled his phone out and got clicking.

Amusing himself with lots of artistic closeups of the bike, he stepped backwards and sideways, trying to get the best angle to capture the archway and tripped as he bumped into someone.

“Fuck! Sorry! È colpa mia, not looking where I was going.”

The silver haired man he had bumped into smiled, putting down his groceries “Assurdità per colpa mia” continuing in clear accented english “I was admiring your beautiful machine. Buongiorno, Signore?” holding his hand out.

Crowley shook “Crowley. Buongiorno ?”

Dark eyes crinkled “Ah your Italian is good for an English boy. Marco Rossi. Piacere di conoscerti.” He nodded at Crowleys phone “May I see?’

Handing it over Crowley muttered “Umm yeah, just a few shots to remember the trip by. Nothing special.”

Signor Rossi flicked through the images quickly “But there none of you upon your beautiful machine?”

Shrugging Crowley replied “Can’t be on it and take photos.”

“Well” said the older man “If you roll it forward a bit, please, allow me to indulge myself?”

With a bit of difficulty (it was a heavy bike) Crowley rolled it forward a foot or so, kicked out the stand, sat back leaning on the seat “Say when?”

Signor Rossi held the phone up frowning at it “One moment Signor Crowley, ahh yes that is the correct button.” He fussed with the phone, looking at the screen, walking around, muttering to himself in Italian.

Crowley ran his fingers through his hair, scratching out the pressure from the helmet, sighing, settling back against the bike, staring out at the city in the distance. Thinking about how much Aziraphale would love being here, he was startled out of his reverie by a quiet voice,

“Whenever you are ready, Signor Crowley?”

_Fuck? Oh yeah, smile and look sexy time….._

He straddled the bike, posed and smiled, slid his glasses back on, posing and smirking for those. When Signor Rossi handed his phone back, Crowley flicked through the last few, looking up in surprise “Hey these are really good!”

With a very Italian shrug the other man smiled “How do they say it? ‘an artist is only as good as his subject?”

Sliding the phone in his inner jacket pocket Crowley huffed a laugh “Can I buy you coffee?” looking at his watch “Or dinner? To say thanks? Those are way better shots than I could have taken.”

Lifting groceries Signor Rossi gestured to the door recessed in one side of the building “I was just about to prepare dinner, join me, tell me why you are in our fair city.”

“You live here? Shit I never even asked permission?” but Signor Rossi waved him down “Lock up your fierce machine, come in, come in. 

_Retrieving his helmet, Crowley did as he was bid and was ushered inside what turned out to be a villa, with terraced gardens offering a splendid view over the city and harbour._

_Marco (as he insisted on) was a retired businessman, his wife on holiday in Australia, visiting their youngest daughter. Pleased to have some company, he quickly assembled some pasta cooking on the stove, prepared a salad, fresh baguette and butter with a robust local red wine to wash it all down._

_They talked food and cooking, debating this herb over that in the sauce, should it be a cream or an oil base. It was a very pleasant meal with excellent company._

As they sat in front of the fireplace, city lights sparkling into the distance, Crowley savoured the rich heady coffee Marco had brewed, wondering how the hell he was going to find his way back to his hotel in the dark.

Marco cleared his throat “So, Crowley. You did not say the details behind why you are in Genoa and so close to Christmas? It is complicated, no?”

He sighed and began to explain “Well, its kinda a long story….” He talked through a second coffee “I was hoping to be back by the weekend, I have a surprise birthday dinner for a ….friend.”

“Your book professore?”

“Yeah. Hope I can get home in time. Hey its late, dinner was fantastic, your verde sauce is spectacular.” He rose, patting his pockets making sure everything was accounted for “I still owe you dinner, I’m staying at the Meliá Genova if you are free tomorrow?”

Marco raised an eyebrow, saying only “Do you have your documents? It is possible I can help” He shrugged “It is as you English say it ‘who you know’? I may know a person.”

Pulling out the rather rumpled handful of documents, Crowley handed them over, Marco disappeared into a back room, where the sound of a scanner and printer buzzed quietly. Stepping out, Marco handed back the documents, along with a business card “Text me your number. I will make a dinner reservation for 7pm.”

Standing on the doorstep, helmet in hand, Crowley paused for a moment “Marco, thankyou for your kindness and for the wonderful dinner. And the great photos!”

Shaking his head, Marco pulled him in for a brusque hug, stepping back giving Crowley a shake on both shoulders “You are a man who appreciates beautiful things. Your Italian is good, and you were polite. An interesting puzzle delivered to my doorstep. What else do I do?”

He continued “You are wrong about the tarragon, also, but I will let it go. For now.” He kissed Crowley on both cheeks in the old way “Go sight seeing tomorrow. Buy your professore a gift!”

_Laughing as he walked out into the night chill, Crowley donned his helmet, gloves, started the bike up, only getting lost a couple of times as he headed back to the more familiar streets._

_*****************************************  
  
_It was late when he finally reached his hotel room, he had switched his phone to silent, and there were several texts from Aziraphale checking up on him.

**AJC: hey angel, sorry, got caught up at dinner, all good**

He stripped off his leathers and base layer, opting for a long hot shower in lieu of a soak. _Fuck he was getting too old to be on a bike all day. Probably help to do some of those stretches his physio nagged him about when it got really tight round his hip._

Dressed in a fluffy bathrobe, lounging on the ridiculous number of pillows that kept reappearing on his bed, no matter how far he threw them around the room, flicking through the shots Marco had taken.

The afternoon light was warm and golden, it had lit Crowleys red hair up like flame, burnishing the red of the bike to a deeper tone, casting shadows across the weathered leathers. These were artistic, moody and Crowley had to admit, they were sexy as all hell.

He flicked back through to the beginning and there was one shot that made him catch his breath, when he was leaning back on the bike, looking off into the distance, smiling so softly he barely recognised himself. Some chance angle of light picked up his eyes, making them glow like liquid gold. The tilt of his hip accentuated the long lines of his legs, the emberbright hair a startling contrast against the black leather jacket.

_Jesus Christ, I’ve never looked more fuckable!_

He picked one of the other shots, a closeup where he had slid his glasses down and was smirking over them while leaning forward over the handle bars of the bike.

**AJC: [sends photo]**

**AJC: see angel good as ever**

**_Angel: There should be a law against it._ **

**AJC: ???**

**_Angel: For you to look that good._ **

_Well that was interesting….._

**AJC: it’s the leather, isn’t it?**

**_Angel: Oh I’m sure you look just as good without it._ **

_…even more interesting_

**_Angel: No hot tub tonight?_ **

**AJC: nah too tired**

**_Angel: [sends a photo of two shapely pale legs, finely turned ankles, ending in two masculine feet with toenails painted a rainbow of delicate pastel shades, surrounded by a thick foam of bubble bath]_ **

_Crowley stared at the picture, bursting out laughing, fingers flashing on his keyboard_

**AJC: can’t decide - are you a bastard or a tease?**

**AJC: painted toenails you shameless hussy!**

**Angel: I plead guilty, Your Honour, on all counts.**

**_Angel: : - P_ **

**_Angel: Sleep well, Crowley._ **

**AJC: yeah nite angel**

*******************************************************

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief, he felt particularly brazen to have even considered taking the bath photo, let alone sending it to Crowley. He had expected scorn or ridicule, had braced for it in fact….. friendly banter verging on flirting…..well he would take it.

Having saved the photo Crowley had sent, he spent a long time staring at it before falling asleep. His last thought was _why would anyone so beautiful want to waste their time with me?_

************************************************  
  
Crowley spent way too long looking at Aziraphales feet resting on his bathtub, imagining what the rest of him might look…… _those curvaceous calves offered the hope of plump firm thighs, deliciously soft arse, a body he could cuddle into and be comforted by its warm solidity._

Unable to ignore the way his achingly hard cock was twitching in response to his imaginings, he groaned, staggering back into the bathroom, shedding the fluffy white robe on the floor at some point.

Letting the hot water beat down on his back, he leaned one arm up on the cold tiles, resting his head against it, he moaned at the wetslick glide of fist over his bloodhot cock, at first slow, teasing.

But as he let his imagination toy with what else his angel might be hiding under foamy bubbles, he fucked his fist harder, faster, chest heaving as he gasped out _Oh Jesus…Angel, oh fuck, yeah, ahhh…..oh god…yes…Yes…YES….._

_Groaning out his climax, his whole body jerking under the force of his release, legs eventually giving out, gracelessly sinking down under the endless rain of hot water, dripping hair hanging down to frame his face as he shuddered one last time, whispering like a blessing or a benediction…….. Angel_

_No nightmares disturbed him that night either._

**WEDNESDAY IN GENOA**

Taking Marco’s advice, Crowley luxuriated in a decent sleep in, attending to emails and phonecalls while still in bed. Weak sunlight shone down on the city, so he opted to walk out the kinks from the slightly too firm hotel mattress.

Wandering the Promenade, taking photos of the giant fishbowl Aquarium, taking some time to people watch, feet and empty stomach leading him in the direction of somewhere to eat. This time he wandered the side streets, looking for the places the locals frequented. Teased by delicious smells, he rounded a corner to find a pretty courtyard, with a bustling café that had a seat free in a sunny window spot.

A meal of fresh caught fish, drenched in piquant lemon sauce, herb and butter drizzled potatoes and salad had him sitting back in satisfaction, pleased to just sit and bask in the sunshine. He pulled out Marco’s card and text his name and number, as requested.

Perusing the menu, he noticed crêpes on the menu, deciding to indulge his Angel he ordered. With a murmured apology for the wait, a plate was presented to him, four delicate crêpe triangles, arranged with orange slices, drizzled in chocolate sauce (with more on the side) and a generous serving of whipped cream.

After taking several photos, Crowley carefully spooned up a mouthful, and moaned a little out loud _the chocolate sauce was rich and bitter enough to counteract the sweetness of the oranges, the soft crunch of the crêp_ _e binding it all together, with the cream smoothing out the final flavours._

Surprising himself, he cleared the plate, brazenly swiping a finger through the last of the chocolate sauce, closing his eyes to lick it off in bliss. A delicate enquiry of his waitress had him leaving with two bottles of sauce carefully wrapped and placed with care in a paper bag.

*****************************************

A taxi dropped him off at the public entrance of the hospital Sofia was in. Navigating his way to her ward, where she appeared to be asleep. Carefully he placed the bag containing a selection of pastries and snacks on her bedside table, but the rustle woke her.

“Come ti senti Sophia? Sitting as her eyes focussed, blinking as she processed his presence and broke into a smile,

“Signor Crowley?” She winced, settling back on her pillow “Eh! I am fine, sore but OW!” wincing again as she tried to shrug “The timing, it is terrible, no? Did the cazzo di merda release the shipment?”

Twitching an eyebrow at the obscenity he sat back and explained his adventures, finishing up with “I had the afternoon free, so wanted to check in, see what you needed?”

Sofia waved him forward, till he was resting his elbows on the bed, she glanced about before saying quietly “Signor Rossi…..he is a man with connections. Be careful Signor Crowley.” Her dark eyes looked earnestly at him “Owing him a favour, it could be dangerous.”

Crowley sat back “Well he hasn’t delivered yet, so worry about that later. Call me if you need anything okay?” Sophia smiled and nodded “Ciao and give your Tracy a hug for me!”

************************************************

Wandering the streets some more, chancing upon a boutique wine cellar that had a delightful range of spirits. Weighed down with a bottle of Christian Drouin Calvados Pays d'Auge Coeur de Lion 1974 and the last remaining Baron de Sigognac 1974 Armagnac he opted to grab a taxi back to his hotel.

The insistent buzz from his phone dragged him out of a rather pleasant nap, still half asleep he answered  
  
“Yeah?”

Tracy’s tones were warm with approval “Crowley, you worked your magic again!”

“Whaaa?” sitting up rubbing his eyes, waiting for the sentence forming part of his brain to come online

“Umm hey Tracy, yeah thanks. WhadidIdo?”

“The marble, I just had a rather panicked apologetic phonecall, its been released, should be loaded by the end of the week.”

_Well bugger me!_

“Bout bloody time too. Okay book me a flight home for Friday, there’s a love.”

“Staying to make sure it happens?

He smiled “You know me too well. Rest of it under control?”

Tapping a pen on her teeth Tracy replied evasively “As much as it ever is. Afternoon flight Friday?”

“Yeah thanks, see you Monday.”

“Get your Dr Fell something nice for Christmas dear.”

_Fuck I better get her something nice too!_

“Shit!” he caught a glimpse of the time, half an hour to get showered and changed for dinner.

_The concierge called up when the car arrived to collect him. A sleek black BMW sat with the rear door open waiting, black suited driver waiting to usher him in. They purred through the traffic, further out of town than Crowley was expecting, finally pulling up to a brightly lit rustic trattoria, overgrown with ivy, music and laughter audible from outside._

_Giving his name to the waiter who met him at the door, he was led through to a table set for two at the back corner, where it was a bit quieter._

“Crowley!” Marco greeted him like an old friend “Sit. Sit, how was your day?”

He groaned theatrically “Too much walking for these old bones.”

_Crowley knew how the game was played. They chatted, ate, laughed until they sat, both enjoying a brandy in the nearly empty trattoria. One young couple lingered, flirting over tiramisu, with the wait staff discretely cleaning up around them. None dared approach their corner, so Crowley relaxed and enjoyed himself._

He reached under the table for the Armagnac stashed there, it broke his heart to part with it, but it was an appropriately worthy gift. He presented it saying quietly “Porgo i miei più sinceri ringraziamenti.”

Marco raised his eyebrows, accepting the gift, whistled low and long “Di Niente, a mere trifle, unworthy of such a fine vintage.”

Crowley shrugged “Business is business. It costs nothing to be polite.”

Marco chuckled at him, raising his brandy snifter in salute “As you say. Will you be leaving us soon?”

Lifting his glass to clink gently in reply Crowley nodded “Friday, after the marble has loaded.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Take the bike for a run down the coast. Do some shopping.”

“Ah your professore and his birthday?”

Nodding Crowley pushed back from the table, stretching “Let me just settle the bill, sì?”

“Grazie” Marco nodded, picking up the Armagnac bottle to admire, as Crowley waved his credit card at the staff.

Marco had walked up, and walked him out to the car, where the driver was waiting “Come visit, if you are in Genoa again” leaving him with another hug.

“And if you are in London, you have my number.”

“Sì sì. Be careful on the road tomorrow.”

Crowley slid into the comfortable leather seat, smiling as Marco closed the door, waving him off as they slid into the darkness, heading for the city lights.

*************************************  
  
**AJC: success angel, be home Friday!**

**AJC: [sends photo of the fish he had for lunch]**

**AJC: [sends photo of crepes]**

**AJC: will miss the food tho!**

**_Angel: Oh those crepes look delicious!_ **

**AJC: yeah they were bloody good actually**

**AJC: ummm owe an apology Angel**

**_Angel: For what, dear_ boy?**

**AJC: I might’ve enjoyed the crepes….out loud**

**AJC: a bit**

**_Angel: I’m sorry I missed it._ **

**AJC: yeah me too Angel**

**AJC: [sends photo of two long legs stretched along the bed, crossed at the ankles, modesty only just maintained by the hem of a white cotton bathrobe]**

**_Angel: I’m disappointed my dear._ **

**AJC: ???**

**_Angel: Your toenails are woefully undecorated!_ **

_Thinking of the hours and hours of pain he endured under the tattoo needle Crowley smiled_

**AJC: yeah but the rest of me isn’t**

**_Angel: May I expect a photo_?**

**AJC: doesn’t do it justice**

**AJC: cant properly appreciate it in 2D**

**AJC: nite angel**

**_Angel: Sleep well, dear boy._ **

*****************************************************

_Crowleys rather cryptic comments distracted him until he fell into a restless sleep. He dreamed of long pale limbs, flame red hair, a dark chocolate and whisky voice murmuring Angel with increasing urgency in his ear._  
  
He writhed and moaned in his sleep, until with a wordless cry he jolted awake from the waves of pleasure, trembling in the aftershocks, pulse beating hard and fast. Riding it out til his breathing quieted, the hot sticky state of him registered, with a sigh he reached for the cleansing wipes he now kept in his beside drawer.

_When he woke in the morning, he felt content, in a way that was unlike him._

_Crowley would be home tomorrow._

**THURSDAY IN GENOA**

Waking up to steady rain, Crowley instantly crossed the bike ride off his list. He could go, but he didn’t want to. Instead, surprising himself with a tai chi routine, followed by some yoga. Stretching out the sore muscles felt good _yeah maybe the physio was right…._

Opting to breakfast in the hotel, pulling out his laptop, wading into the never ending emails, fuelled by dainty buttery pastries and excellent coffee left by discreet waitstaff, several hours passed. Stretching he winced, the good work from his morning exercise all gone after hours hunched over a laptop.

Noting the sky had cleared to mere drizzle, he headed back to his room, donning his leathers, to wander the streets in search of suitable Christmas gifts.

The streets were quiet, ideal to grab of photos of the old buildings, artistic black and whites, picking up the sheen of the rain on cobblestones, railings decorated with raindrops, reflections in puddles. Soon his hair was plastered down his back, but he was having too much fun to notice, until the cold drips got under his collar.

His phone vibrated with a message from Tracy, with the details of the container and ship and loading schedule. The ship would depart before dawn most likely.

_Time to head back to the hotel, find the sauna and bask._

Dining at the premium restaurant, he lingered over a whisky, listening to the rain pattering on the windows. Only a few other patrons sat so late, losing himself in thought, planning how Friday would pan out.

Loudly, his phone buzzed, jerking him out of his reverie

**_Angel: Last night in Genoa?_ **

**AJC: rained all day, pretty tho**

**AJC: [ sends several of his favourite shots of the city]**

**_Angel: Very picturesque._ **

**_Angel: Lacking one vital ingredient however._ **

**AJC: lemme guess…**

**AJC: [sends the shot of him leaning on the bike, yeah *that* one]**

_(long pause so he gets up, heads back to his room)_

**_Angel: [a slightly out of focus black and white shot of a bare back and shoulders, rumpled shirt caught in the bends of his elbows, in the process of being removed. Aziraphales face was turned in profile, looking demurely down]_ **

Crowley staggered a few steps, falling breathless onto the bed _Oh My Fucking God!!_

It was just skin, but there was an intimacy, a vulnerability in the way the other man was…..revealing himself….that struck a chord with Crowley.

**_AJC: Yeah Angel, miss you too_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also a link to this fabulous portrait of Crowley, which matches exactly how I see him in my head in this fic.
> 
> Shared with permission from the artist Eleonora Conti
> 
> [Crowley](https://www.instagram.com/p/B6g75rzKjka/)


	13. Surprise Birthday Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets many unexpected surprises for his birthday...
> 
> It turns out found family is something he is going to have to get used to having.
> 
> Crowley discovers the benefits of self care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***********************************************  
> First let me say how completely overwhelmed I was to discover that I have over 100 people subscribed to this fic!
> 
> Thankyou for placing your trust in me and following this story of our two ineffable idiots as they (hopefully) find their way to each other.
> 
> I treasure every comment, and I really hope you don't hate me at the end of this one :)
> 
> *************************************************

Friday found Crowley woken up too damn early by confirmation emails that the container was loaded and the ship safely departed. Since he was awake already, he wrestled his inbox into submission, took the bike for one last spin before returning it to the rental depot, enjoyed one last walk through the city, indulging in brunch before checking out and heading to the airport.

Sleeping on the flight left him feeling even more out of sorts and the awful holiday traffic combined with rush hour meant he was exhausted when he finally staggered into his cold dark flat. Pausing only to water his plants, stand under a hot shower before crawling into bed, he slept heavily until his alarm went off on Saturday morning.

Waiting for the second coffee to kick in, munching on toast drowning in honey and melted butter, he ran over his checklist for the day. There was a lot involved in planning a surprise birthday dinner!

First up, a long hot shower, deep conditioner for his hair, and a ……general tidy up (without looking too obvious) _….because well…you never know…and should be….prepared_

Next up, phone calls, phone calls and more phone calls.

Rugging up for the rather brisk day outside, on a quest for fancy wrapping paper, ridiculous curly ribbons, cards, tape _surely he had scissors SOMEWHERE!_

Laden down like any other pre Christmas shopper, he was late enough his barber frowned at him as he shouldered through the doorway.

“Crowley” drawled his barber “Try not to piss of the man who is about to hold a razor to your throat…”

Divesting his jacket, scarf, gloves and bags of shopping, he sank panting lightly into the chair “Sorry Tim, it’s a bloody nightmare out there. Forecast is for snow tonight” he sighed “Hope it holds off.”

Tim walked behind him, resting warm hands on his shoulders, giving them a gentle rub and squeeze “Lie back and relax mate, we’ll take good care of you. Tie back that bloody mane of yours, hate to lop some off by accident.”

_It was familiar banter, he plaited his hair back, tucking it into his collar, trading casual insults with his barber. Crowley wasn’t a frequent customer but he was a long time regular, and they had enough history for a few laughs together._

_Relaxing under the heat of the towel applied to his face, he wondered what Aziraphale was doing on his birthday…_

***************************************************  
A loud repeated banging pulled his attention from the spine he was very carefully sewing back together, causing him to jerk, stabbing his thumb with the needle.

“Drat” he mumbled around the thumb in his mouth, taking off his reading glasses, walking over and unlocking the door to find his usual courier on his doorstep, wide smile in place, pen tucked behind one ear

“Zahid! I wasn’t expecting any deliveries?”

_Aziraphale had turned up in person to the head office of the usual courier company that served his area, and berated the manager at some length about the discourtesy of leaving expensive Signature Required books on his doorstep, to be stolen. About the impact on their insurance premiums should he have to make a claim…_

_His habit of offering tea, biscuits and the occasional toilet stop for the local drivers had endeared him, and they soon learned to knock loud and hard to make sure he heard them if it didn’t fit in the mail slot._

Handing over a large heavy wicker hamper, wrapped in shiny cellophane and a smaller box with the Harrods logo clearly visible, Zahid smiled widely at him

“Early Christmas presents Dr Fell!” as he offered his scanner device for Aziraphale to scrawl on.

“Errr no, its my birthday actually….” He trailed off, because he genuinely wasn’t expecting anything. Just like any other year.

“May Allah fill your birthday with love, peace, and happiness!” Zahid bounced off with his usual energy, van idling while illegally parked on the corner like usual.

Murmuring “Shukraan” absently, he wrestled his unexpected largesse inside, elbowing the door shut behind him.

The large hamper was from Fortnum and Mason, full of delicious treats and a couple of bottles of wine. Oddly, no card accompanied it. The smaller parcel revealed itself to be a bottle of champagne and chocolate truffles with a small card that said only **_Happy Birthday my dear Dr Fell_ , _you are a complete treasure. Enjoy!_**

While he was puzzling over these, his door was assaulted again, this time by Waleed, jaunty in his branded baseball cap “Morning Mr Fell, Merry Christmas, sign here please.”

Signing as requested, he took receipt of a third mystery parcel, to find more champagne, chocolates and gourmet biscuits. This one did have a card included, **_Happy Birthday Dr F! Love from Ana and Newt._**

Inexplicably, tears gathered and spilled softly down his cheeks. So often his birthday had been forgotten, being only four days out from Christmas. Few of his colleagues cared to ask, his family steadfastly ignored him unless there was something in it for them _they usually begrudgingly invited him back for Christmas Day, but he hadn’t heard from them at all this year. Perhaps his repeated polite but firm refusals finally made their point?_

So the number of people who knew it was his birthday was minimal. The number of people who knew, and cared enough to buy him any gift at all (let alone these expensive indulgences!)?? Well that was vanishingly small.

And he knew he hadn’t told Crowley. Plus a courier delivered gift hamper didn’t really seem his style. _Oh well, lets not look a gift horse in the mouth, after all….._

Which reminded him….

**_Angel: How is your day so far? All recovered from Italy?_ **

**AJC: yeah busy day tho**

**AJC: whats up angel?**

**_Angel: Dinner tonight, you didn’t say where we were going?_ **

**AJC: it’s a surprise : - )**

**AJC: reminds me, sending a car to pick you up before 7**

_(long pause with no reply)_

**AJC: alright angel?**

**_Angel: Oh yes, I’m just wondering what I should wear. One shouldn’t be too casual etc._ **

Crowley smiled fondly at his phone, always so concerned about what other people thought, making the right impression. Still it was the Ritz….

**AJC: def not black tie, but suit if you like**

**AJC: you always look great angel!**

**_Angel: Thankyou my dear, but as you say, one should do it with style, and you do like to set a trend._ **

**AJC: style is what you make it**

**AJC: gotta go c u 2nite**

************************************************

He put his phone down and smiled apologetically at his manicurist “Sorry that was my….”

“Date?” said Nadya, smirking a little as a blush rose on his cheeks. Desperate to distract from the conversation, he splashed his feet that were soaking in a fragrant warm bath,

“How long?” he shrugged, restless with nerves that were starting to flutter a little. A warm soft hand covered his for a moment

“Relax Mr Crowley, Pepper told me ‘take the best care of my boss’. And so. Sit, enjoy.” She rubbed soft rich cream into his work roughened hands “Presentable we will make you.”

_He had to admit, this being pampered business was ……pleasant. Bee was often on at him about self care, the kind that didn’t involve enough whisky to pass out on. He might owe her an apology….it would almost be worth it._

***********************************************  
  
Aziraphale fussed in front of the mirror, he had opted on the side of caution and dragged a little worn suit out of the wardrobe. It was more modern than his usual style, a grey blue check with light and dark blue stripes (reminiscent of tartan), an ivory satin waistcoat and a pale blue shirt with a matching satin bow tie.

A buzz from his phone alerted him to a text

**Unknown Number: Your ride is here to collect you Dr Fell**

“Blast.” Grabbing his gloves, wallet, phone and keys, shoving them into his coat pocket, he donned his scarf and coat as he walked across the shop, turning out the main lights, before letting himself out and locking the door.

The car idling cross the road flashed his lights, and he walked quickly across the street, where the driver had let his window down  
  
“Ride for Dr Fell?”

Uncertain of the protocol he nodded

“Get in mate, I’m Eric, have you there in a jiffy.”

Remembering something Ana had said about getting rides with strangers, he opened the back door and slid in, fastening his seatbelt.

Eric waited for him to get settled, saying “My instructions are to take it nice and slow, okay, so let me know if anything is a problem?”

 _Crowley being thoughtful again, how nice of him_ “Ah, thankyou, yes. Where are we headed exactly?”

Eric snorted a laugh “I had instructions for that too, it’s a surprise. Though not much of one if you ask me, but, your mates paying.”

Puzzled by this cryptic commentary, Aziraphale sat back, watching the city lights. It was bitterly cold outside, but the car was warm, soft music playing quietly until, too quickly the car pulled to a stop, Eric saying “Here you go guv’nor.”

The door was opened by the elegantly uniformed doorman, and Aziraphale stepped out, gazing up at the familiar blue and gold shaded steps and railings of the front of the Ritz. Glad he had opted for the suit he headed up the steps, wondering where Crowley was.

“Dr Fell, we were not expecting you this evening?” the concierge looked worried and Aziraphale peeled off his gloves “How lovely to see you again George. I’m dining with a friend tonight, reservation for Crowley?”

George brightened “Ah yes, a most particular gentleman.” He gestured to the bus boy standing alertly beside the counter “Julian here will take your coat and scarf.” He turned to address Julian “Please conduct Dr Fell to the Wimborne Room with every courtesy.”

Bemused, Aziraphale allowed himself to be divested of his outerwear (having tucked his wallet discretely into his jacket pocket) and followed Julian down the cream and scarlet carpet of the Long Gallery, through to the end, then left into William Kent House, to a room he had never been in before.  
  
Walls dressed with opulent rich cream brocade wallpaper, gilt glinting off the elaborate plaster ceiling, heavy gold velvet drapes running from ceiling to floor, a fire lit in the ornate fireplace, and in the center of the room, an oval table set for two. Candles adorned the table, and small side tables featured candelabras casting off a warm glow. Classical music played softly from discreetly placed speakers. It was intimate, almost romantic, certainly dim enough for Crowley to put aside his sunglasses.

Rising to his feet was a breathtaking splendour cast in sharply sculpted black, emberbright hair falling in glossy waves around his face and shoulders. They stared at each other for a moment before Crowley broke into a shy smile,

“Happy Birthday Aziraphale….surprise!” Leaning over to grab two fizzing champagne flutes, as Aziraphale walked slowly into the room, marvelling , throat thick with emotion. He took the offered flute, taking a quick sip to settle his nerves before saying,

“You did this….? How did…? Oh dear…..” he trailed off, utterly speechless.

Gathering up the flutes and depositing them back on the table, Crowley stared at him for a long moment before saying quietly “You okay angel?”

_Crowley wondered in that moment if Aziraphale had ever had a moment of true kindness offered him, he looked on the verge of tears (happy he hoped) and completely taken by surprise. He’d had inklings that his family had treated him a bit shit, but this shocked vulnerability told him a much more painful story. Crowley’s heart cracked open a little wider, he knew all too well what led to that kind of pain._

Slinging an arm comfortably about Aziraphales shoulders, he steered him around the table, pulling the chair out, seating him as tidily as any Ritz trained staff member could hope. Seating himself, he rearranged the wine glasses a bit and broke the silence.

“Tracy is a devious woman who manages to pull secrets and confessions out of the unwary. She is also extraordinarily kind, and thinks you are a treasure.” He shrugged, sprawling somehow elegantly across his padded green velvet chair “You look fantastic by the way. Blue is definitely your colour.”

Frowning a little, Aziraphale replied a little absently “Thankyou my dear.”

They both jumped as Crowleys phone buzzed loudly, swearing under his breath he picked it up to find a text from Warlock saying only **Show him the video**. His phone buzzed again with an mp4 file attached. Clicking it to open, he handed the phone to Aziraphale,

“Umm, apparently this is for you?” Warily Aziraphale took it, holding the phone so they could both see and pressed PLAY.  
_  
Five happy faces rather unmelodiously chorused HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR FAVOURITE UNCLE (more or less together), Warlock said “Happy Birthday Dr F” Pepper shouldered him saying “The mystery gift basket is from all of us!” Adam leaned in and smiled “It had no card so we didn’t blow the surprise.” They all blew him kisses and waved goodbye._

Crowley took his phone back, and switched it to OFF, putting it face down away from them both. A delicate sniffle from his left had him reaching into his suit coat pocket for a black cotton handkerchief, handing it over with a murmured “Keep it, got plenty.”

The door swung open, the waiter popping his head in to check if his services were required, Crowley nodded, and he discussed the menu options for long enough to give Aziraphale time to collect himself. Orders were placed, champagne flutes topped up and they were left to enjoy the serenity of the room.

Clearing his throat lightly Aziraphale spoke shyly “I am quite overcome my dear, such a kind and thoughtful gesture….”

 _Oh god, he’s going to start apologising or something….._ “Angel” he put enough bite in it to stop the blond from whatever he was going to say next “It’s your birthday. You deserve a treat for which you have given appropriate thanks. If you are about to say something like ‘I don’t deserve it’ or ‘you shouldn’t have’ or something equally silly…….STOP.”

“But…”

Crowley sat back and narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale “Do you know how much time and effort I put into planning this? Because *I* wanted to. Are you seriously going to tell me that it wasn’t worth it? Don’t I get to decide that?”

Noting the other mans hands twisting anxiously in his lap, he scooted forward, reaching out and tangling his fingers to still the fretting “Hey, I don’t know who told you that you were somehow unworthy. They were wrong, y’hear me?”

He held on to the hand he had claimed, rubbing softly with his thumb until something resembling a genuine smile assembled itself on the blonds face “You’re so fierce Crowley, I wish I’d known you …… earlier.”

 _Better, that’s better, he’s talking now_ With a squeeze he let go of their hands, but stayed where he was seated, his knee brushing lightly across the others thigh “Yeah, funny to think we only met a few months ago. I’m glad you gave me your card.”

Reaching for his wine, Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at him “You were most unimpressed to be the recipient of my hot tea, if I remember correctly. Such language! You should really learn to swear in Russian, its very satisfying.”

Racking his brain for his favourite curse, Crowley replied “ _Shob tebe deti v sup srali_ ” and Aziraphale nodded.

“I have no idea what you said, but it sounds appalling” He smiled happily.

“ ‘I wish that your children will crap in your soup’ is the rough translation, God only knows why that one stuck in my brain.”

“Fortunately” Aziraphale said archly “We aren’t having soup….” Crowley snorted

“Haven’t got kids either, unless there’s something you haven’t told me?”

Something dark shuttered his expression for a moment, but Aziraphale rallied “Au contraire, my good man, you have five splendid children. But I think they are sufficiently houstrained to stay away from soup.”

Muttering “Not so sure about Brian” he reluctantly scooted his seat over, as the door opened with two waiters bringing their plates in, folding napkins across laps, and fussing discreetly until dismissed.

He waited until Aziraphale had a forkful of food gathered up before saying quietly “I got us a private room Angel, so you could *properly* enjoy your dinner. If you like….?”

_His answer was a blissful closing of eyes, low hums and quiet moans as Aziraphale savoured every bite. Crowley ate quickly, he enjoyed good food but not to the same extent, happy to sip expensive bubbles and watch his dinner companions enjoyment. It was oddly satisfying and he had to admit…..a little erotic as well._

They fell into easy conversation over dinner, Aziraphale asking about Genoa, which kept the discussion flowing through the evening, while they enjoyed their mains and beyond until Crowley stretched, asking casually “Room for dessert Angel?”

Dabbing delicately at the corner of his mouth with the napkin, Aziraphale did a very creditable ‘puppy dog eyes’ at him “Oh well, if you insist dear boy.”

When the waiter popped his head around the door again in, Crowley nodded firmly at him and he disappeared. A few minutes later the door was opened again to a trolley being pushed through by one of the chefs “Good evening gentlemen, I am here to prepare for you the Crêpes Suzette” and the blinding smile turned Crowleys way made the evening entirely worth it.

Aziraphale polished of his portion and half of Crowley’s, sitting back with a happy sigh “Thankyou my dear, that was quite simply, the best birthday gift I’ve ever received.”

Swirling his cognac, breathing in the aroma as it warmed in his hand Crowley smiled “Better start planning for next year then.” Aziraphale turned to him with a frown,

“But, you haven’t told me when your birthday is?” _internally Crowley sighed_

“Yeah its ummm October. 31st” but he didn’t get the expected response.

“Samhain. A powerful symbolic day to be born on.”

“Sahwin?” Crowley had no idea what he was talking about.

“Yes its an ancient celtic pagan festival where they considered the borders between this world and the spirits to become permeable. Tied into harvest end. Very significant date.” He squinted at Crowley and huffed a laugh,

“Your birthday gets lost in Halloween and mine gets lost in Christmas. We are the odd couple!”

_Something clenched in Crowleys chest hearing Aziraphale say those words…..if he had to put a name to it, he might call it …..hope…._

_He knew the story of Pandora’s Box, and had his own perspective on hope being locked away, to be kept safe as if it were a treasure. When he really knew it was nothing but cruelty in many cases, to hope for something you couldn’t have…._

“C’mon Birthday Boy, lets get you home, while we can still both walk.” The bill was paid, coats and scarves were donned, the cold winter air a shocking change from the extravagant comfort inside the Ritz.

Pulling his gloves on Aziraphale sighed heavily “Do you mind…if we walk? Its not far and I could do with settling my dinner.”

“Whatever you want Angel” and they companionably strolled through the bitter cold, breath fogging on the night air. Aziraphale was nattering on about something, and Crowley was miles away, fed, happy and just drunk enough to have a buzz on, enjoying the success of the evening.

They were walking up Regent Street, when Aziraphale stopped him with a hand on his arm. They’d stopped under a streetlight and Aziraphale was staring up at the sky. As Crowley looked up something cold and wet landed on his face and Aziraphale whispered in delight “Its *snowing*”

At first it was just a few, then they were swirling down thicker, wet heavy flakes that looked like settling and building up. Reluctantly the blond was pulled away from his contemplation “C’mon angel, need to get home before it gets slippery.”

_Snowflakes dusted his hair, sparkling in the dim streetlights, he looked happy, relaxed and suddenly much younger, like a weight he unconsciously carried had been removed._

_He was beautiful….._

Pulling him aside out of the stream of late night party goers from one of the nearby bars Crowley looked at his Angel “You okay to get yourself home?” He twitched a shoulder “I’m that way, but I’ll walk you home if you need it?”

“It’s not far, I’ll be fine.” He fidgeted in place for a moment “I had a really delightful time tonight, thankyou Crowley” He looked down biting his lip, looking up at the red head through blond lashes before glancing away, then up again “Can I hug you?”

_Those shy yet knowing glances hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath, yet making his heart pound, desire trickling tenuous warmth through his veins_

Roughly he said “Anytime Angel.”

_He stepped into the others embrace, resting his cheek against the others, breathing in the warm aromatic hints of cologne. Time stopped around the two of them, they lingered in each others arms, a small limnal space forming around them._

_Reluctantly Crowley stepped back slightly, hands sliding down to lightly grip coat lapels, tilting his head to drag his nose lightly across the others cheek, until…… they hovered, waiting….. mouths so close they were breathing each others air._

_Eyes closed, he trembled with the restraint of waiting, for Aziraphale to tilt his chin, to lean in, for their lips finally to press together…._

Leaning in the tiniest movement he whispered “ _Aziraphale….I…”_

He was abruptly shoved sideways, almost taking Aziraphale down with him as several loudly drunken idiots staggered past, one slurring “Get a fucking room.”

By the time they sorted themselves out, the moment was gone, although something lingered in the bluegrey eyes as they said good night

“Mind how you go dear boy.”  
  
“Yeah, you too. Text me when you get home, alright?”

_He waited until the text arrived, sending his own reply, before rolling over, and screaming into his pillow FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK!_


	14. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale rather unexpectedly ends up hosting Christmas Day for three at his flat, Crowley works magic in the kitchen, gifts are exchanged.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********************************************************  
> OK you will all yell at me for this but I'M NOT SORRY!
> 
> Well Im really sorry for making Crowley suffer, but hopefully some key messages got heard by the people who needed to hear them in this chapter.
> 
> ********************************************************

Groaning, turning his face into the pillow, Aziraphale lay regretting the indulgence of quite of lot of delicious champagne the previous evening. He had made his way home through the snow, drunk on alcohol and delight as the world was carpeted in glistening white. Barely stopping to shed his clothing and text Crowley, he had fallen into bed, soundly asleep within minutes.

Water, aspirin, a long hot shower and a bracing cup of tea did a lot to restore his composure. He followed the trail of clothing discarded as he made his way across the flat, putting away shoes, hanging up coat and scarf.

His suit was lying crumpled on the floor, waistcoat slung over the corner of the bed, shirt in the vague direction of the laundry basket. He hung and buttoned the waistcoat, carefully folding his suit pants and hanging the jacket around it. Remembering to check the pockets before closing the wardrobe door, he retrieved his wallet, and a crumpled black handkerchief with the letters AJC embroidered in deep red in one corner.

Memories crashed in broken splinters…..

_Crowley standing in a black suit, crowned in fire, all gorgeous edges that he was sure wouldn’t hurt at all when he cut himself on them…._

_The quiet understanding when he had lost control of his composure, no judgement, just acceptance that emotions were something one experienced…._

_Such kindness and generosity to give him a gift that clearly required time and consideration to make happen…._

_Delight at it actually snowing on his birthday….seeing something dark and hungry in Crowleys expression as he looked down at him…..how good it had felt to feel those arms around him, drowning in the smell of sandalwood…..the way their lips had hovered, so close, his heart pounding, wanting…..so much to turn his head, to claim that mouth, tangle his fingers in the glorious hair…..to kiss him until…..ohhh…._

He held the scrap of black to his nose, it still held an echo of Crowley’s cologne (it was pleasant when men made an effort to smell nice) and he shuddered at the thrill that ran down his spine.

_He’d wanted so much to close that gap between them, but he still couldn’t understand why Crowley would want him…..when he could have anyone he wanted looking the way he did, what did a middle aged book obsessed introvert have to offer…._

_It frightened him, how much he wanted…..not just the man….but something more….something like a relationship….he wanted something that would last._

_To wake up to long limbs, tangled red hair, sleepy kisses, someone he could care for, who accepted him, broken twisted creature that he was._

The damage his family had done was an old unhealed wound that still haunted him, he knew that. It made it hard for him to trust others, to see he had value. A therapist had told him that so long as he didn’t like himself, he would always struggle to understand why others might.

Crowley mattered to him, a great deal. He was terrified of losing him, yet afraid to commit himself either way, even knowing it was his old self sabotage behaviour that happened when he was forced to a decision. If he dithered long enough, someone else would make it for him, and then he would only have to be responsible for dealing with the outcome.

It rarely got him what he wanted.

With a sigh he picked up the laundry basket, stopping to turn on the gas fire, setting some soothing music to play while he tackled his chores.

Munching on some toast and marmalade, his phone startled him by buzzing

**_Crowley: hey angel you up yet?_ **

**AZ Fell: Somewhat worse for wear, but yes.**

**_Crowley: u home?_ **

**AZ Fell: I am.**

**_Crowley: cool be there in about 20 min, can you let me in?_ **

**AZ Fell: Will leave the door unlocked.**

**_Crowley: gonna need a hand unloading the car_ **

**_Crowley: c u soon_ **

************************************************************

The familiar sleek line of the Bentley slid into the carpark opposite the shop, that always seemed to be miraculously free whenever Crowley visited.

Opening the door, Aziraphale stood on the steps and shivered, a few sparse patches of snow remained but the wind was chilly. Watching Crowley bend to retrieved something from the boot, striding carefully across the puddleslick road, he handed two pot plants to Aziraphale

“Here”, turning back to the car, to pull out a large fern and an even bigger green leafy thing, shutting the boot, arranging the plants so he could see, smiling as he walked up the steps into the shop. “Upstairs?” he asked while walking in that direction, cursing as he navigating the narrow stairwell to the flat.

Bemused, Aziraphale cradled his two plants in his arms and followed obediently. The fern was deposited in his bathroom, the narrow weeping bulbous things he had in his arms were arranged in the lounge, Crowley hefted the biggest one asking “Bedroom?”

Grateful he had made the effort to tidy up and make the bed, he said “Door in the corner by the kitchen” and trailed after Crowley as he fussed to find the right spot in front of the windows for the plant.

“Crowley….what exactly are you doing?”

That familiar grin flashed his way “Putting something living and breathing in this soulless bastion to dead trees? What does it look like I’m doing?”

About to retort in his most snippy fashion, Aziraphale saw the arched eyebrow and lazy smile of a man who had got a very deliberate dig in and was enjoying the outcome “Oh you are a wretched fiend. How are you not hungover?”

“Well I didn’t drink as much for a start, but lots of water before bed, aspirin and a bucket load of coffee.” He slid his glasses up on top of his head “You look a bit rough round the edges though?”

Leading them out into the warmth of the lounge he shrugged “I may have overindulged a tad” he smiled “It was a special occasion, I’m allowed.”

A warm soft smile lit Crowleys face for a moment, and he said softly “Yeah, angel, you are.” The moment lingered a little and he startled “Shit, sorry can’t stay, stuff to do.”

“Put all the plants in the bath and let them soak in a few inches of water once a week, yeah?”

“That’s all they need?”

“Mmm but I’ll be round to check on them. Just to make sure.”

“Of course dear boy. Do they have names?”

Crowley looked honestly gobsmacked “Names, who the hell gives their plants names?” he flailed a hand wildly “Never mind, name them if you bloody like.”

Halfway across the flat he stopped “Fuck nearly forgot. What’re you doing Christmas Day?”

“Err,nothing? You told me not to make plans.”

“Oh yeah right. Anyway, usually Tracy and I do something together, family’n’all that. She thought you might like to host it this year?”

Helplessly Aziraphale looked at him “But I’m a terrible cook” and Crowley shushed him

“Nah, I’ll do the cooking, I’m assuming your oven works? Yeah, good. You supply the booze and we’ll take care of the rest? Righto, call you later, sort the details.” With a grin and a flick of his hair, he disappeared out the door, leaving Aziraphale wondering what the hell had just happened.

_Crowley headed to the nearest Marks & Spencer, calling Tracy on the way, letting her know the change of plans. He had shopping to do, a menu to plan._

_They say that food is the way to a mans heart, and no one loved food as much as Aziraphale did. If that’s what it took to seduce him, Crowley would bring his A game._

_Even if he was going to spend all of Christmas Eve in preparation, it would be worth it._

**************************************************************  
  
 **Xmas Day Checklist**

**3 poussin stuffed with sausage and chestnut stuffing**

**Home made gravy**

**Cranberry sauce**

**Potatoes ready to be roasted in duckfat (herbs and sea salt for dressing when ready)**

**Broccoli (make the white sauce on the day)**

**Yorkshire pud if time**

**  
Large steamed pudding**

**Home made custard ready to reheat**

**Brandy sauce – make on the day**

**Good vanilla icecream**

**Pouring cream**

Crowley looked at his nearly illegible scrawl, hair tied back in a ponytail, random strands stuck to his sweaty forehead and neck.

His apron was filthy, the kitchen was a mess, a mountain of dishes stacked haphazardly on the bench, but the fridge was loaded with everything he could safely prep ahead of Christmas Day. Taking into account the time it took to cook a meal for three people, plus the limits of Aziraphales tiny kitchen, it should be a fairly easy day _after slaving for a good 6 hours to get it to that stage._

Tracy would take care of the snacks and he had no doubt that Angel would come up with the goods for the booze.

Shit! He still had to wrap their presents!

_Stuffing himself with cheese on toast, he tackled the worst of the dishes and mess, before eventually falling into bed, exhausted but content at a good days work._

********************************************************

Embarrassed at the lack of seasonal decorations in his flat (the one box he had found looked so tatty and old he had thrown it out) Aziraphale watched as Crowley bustled around the kitchen, unpacking a surprising number of containers from the boxes he had lugged inside.

His hair was tied back in a French plait, highlighting the lines of his cheekbones and jaw as he hummed cheerfully out of tune while rummaging through drawers and cupboards.

Dressed in black jeans and a black polo, he looked rather amusing in a bright pink apron that said _Kiss The Cook!_ in cheerful cursive. At a loss of what to do he turned to Tracy who had come prepared with a hearty snack platter, she smiled and patted the sofa next to her, saying

“Pour us a wine dear, sit down and maybe some Christmas music?”

Grateful for something to do, he attended to the wine choices, Crowley did something with his phone that had music filling the space, although his humming didn’t get any more tuneful.

Watching Crowley cook was a spectator sport in its own right, as he cursed heartily, talked at himself, yelled at the misbehaving appliances and was clearly having a great time.

Aziraphale stage whispered to Tracy “Is he normally like this?”

She nudged him with an elbow “Oh no, that Ramsay fellow could learn a thing or two from our boy here.”

An eyebrow was raised in their direction “I can hear you…”

Tracy replied smugly “Yes dear, we know.”

Aziraphale ventured carefully “I’m very impressed, I had no idea you were so ...talented… in the kitchen.”

Pausing to flick a grin in his direction Crowley replied “Yeah but I’m leaving you the mess to clean up…”

Unaware he had that many pots and pans, bowls and other implements, he looked at the mounting pile by the sink and said cheerfully “Well it better be bloody worth it then!”

That literally stopped the redhead in his tracks, as he momentarily gaped in surprise while Tracy slid sideways into him with a peal of laughter “Quick hide the knives or it will be you he fillets next.”

Frowning Crowley mock snarled “Not with these godawful abominations it won’t” then he brandished an extremely dangerous looking chef knife “Fortunately I bought my own!”

Turning to Tracy, Aziraphale said quickly “Come dear lady, I suggest we retreat to the safety of the books downstairs.”

As they rose and headed Tracy replied archly “Well we can always throw them at it him he comes for us!”

Crowleys growl followed them as they headed downstairs, giggling like idiots.

***************************************************************  
Dinner smelt amazing and tasted just as good. Tasty stuffed poussins wrapped in bacon, roasted with potatoes in duckfat, broccoli and white sauce, gravy and cranberry sauce.

Pleasantly full Aziraphale sat back “My dear boy, the Ritz could hardly have done it better.”

To his surprise Crowley blushed crimson “Nah wouldn’t go that far, s’alright though.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Crowley saying “There’s dessert, for later. If you want.”

Groaning Tracy said “Much later, please. But if I sit here like this I will fall asleep.”

Crowley raised his head from where he sprawled across most of the sofa “No bloody awful TV for the love of God.”

At a loss of how to entertain three adults for an afternoon, Aziraphale wandered into his spare room, getting down to look under the bed. Aha! Blowing the dust off the box he found there, he returned to the lounge.

“I’m not sure what state its in but I have Monopoly?”

_Rather surprisingly Aziraphale absolutely annihilated them in the first round. Tracy gleefully cleaned up in round two. Crowley who insisted on a best of three pulled out with the excuse of having to cook, rather than suffer a third crushing defeat._

While the Christmas pudding was heating in its water bath, Crowley decided now was a good time to distract with presents, pulling out his rather crumpled offerings (wrapping a bottle is HARD okay?) waving away the “Oh you shouldn’t haves” from both recipients.

The Calvados was greeted with a raised eyebrow and a murmured “Thankyou dear boy” while Tracy wrapped her gorgeous hand dyed silk scarf around her neck, hugging him with delight.

Tracy pulled out two white envelopes and handed one to each of the men. Aziraphale’s contained a book of ten movie tickets to a well known art house cinema “You need to get out more, love” she whispered as she handed it over.

Crowley gave her the hairy eyeball as he very cautiously opened his, half pulled the contents out, blushed furiously, stammering “Uhhh thanks. I think.” Tracy smirked wickedly but nothing further was said on the subject.

Curious as to what could possibly crack Crowleys normally unruffled demeanour, Aziraphale said quietly “I wasn’t sure what to get either of you so” he hesitated before saying to Tracy “I have a holiday cottage near Brighton, its yours for a holiday, whenever you like, dear lady.”

Tracy clasped her hands to her chest, eyes bright “A cottage, by the sea?”

“Near enough, its been in the family for a while and I hardly use it.”

Crowley had retreated back into the kitchen, fussing over custard but he looked up as Aziraphale held his hand across the bench saying “This is for you.” Crowley held his hand out palm up and Aziraphale dropped an old fashioned style key in it saying “It’s the key to downstairs. For the … um… plants. So you can ummm visit and check on them.”

_Neither of them acknowledged how his fingertips stroked across Crowleys palm as he put the key there, or how his hand trembled at the touch._

Roughly Crowley said “Handy. Thanks.”

Tracy said brightly “Do you have any photos of the cottage, Aziraphale dear?”

“A little out of date, but yes downstairs.”

“Lead the way!”

**********************************************  
  
Immersed in tending three different pots on the stove, Crowley started when Aziraphale said softly from behind him “The Calvados was a bit extravagant Crowley.”

With an insouciant shoulder shrug the redhead replied “I’ll drink it if you don’t want it” he turned, pulling a soup spoon out of the drawer, dipping it into a pot of creamy sauce, holding his hand under it to catch the drips.

“Here, lend me your refined tastebuds, tell me if this is okay?”

Stepping forward the blond opened his mouth, accepting the spoonful, closing his eyes, licking his lips with a “Mmmmmm” then he opened his eyes, saying softly “Please sir, can I have some more?”

_The combination of those big blue eyes looking up at him, lips moist and so temptingly close, practically begging him for …..something…Crowley felt his breath hitch as his pulse kicked into gear and was suddenly very grateful for the ridiculous apron he was wearing…._

His hand trembled the slightest amount as he dipped the spoon, filling it up with more warm creamy sauce which Aziraphale willingly opened his mouth for. The tip of his tongue ensuring every last drop was savoured (except for one small drip that had caught on his chin). Crowley swallowed, resisting the urge to lick his own lips.

“Delicious, but perhaps a touch more brandy?”

Crowley put the spoon down, their eyes were locked on each other, tension palpable between them as he carefully reached out, cradling the other mans jaw with his fingertips,

“You’ve got a spot….. here” gently swiping it off with his thumb.

_Give me a sign Aziraphale, tell me you want this, that you are ready for this, for me to just dip my head and taste the brandy from your lips, to back you up against the cupboards and kiss you until we can’t breathe._

_He couldn’t hear anything over the rapid pounding over his heartbeat until Aziraphale closed his eyes with a whispered “Please…”_

_Please yes? Please don’t? Fucking KILLING me here Angel!  
  
_ The door to the flat opened to Tracy saying gaily “Oh Aziraphale, the cottage looks gorgeous…” she stopped, taking in the tableau of the two men, now several feet apart with Aziraphale retreating rapidly, muttering something incoherent in his nervousness.

Tracy mouthed “Sorry!” silently across the room, shaking his head in despair at another opportunity lost, he returned to preparing dessert.

*************************************************  
Later when Aziraphale was out of the room Tracy said “God I’m really sorry Crowley” and he put his head in his hands and sighed.

“Arrggh I just don’t know what he wants! Anyone else and I’d be enjoying a bloody well earned post coital smoke by now, but I just can’t read him.”

“From what I saw, he’s definitely interested. I see the way he looks at you, but he’s damaged. Warlock said his family was, and I quote ‘a bunch of assholes’.”

“Yeah, he’s told me some of it and I agree with Warlock.” He sat up and looked at her, heaving a resigned breath “Alright, tell me what you think.”

She laid a hand on his knee “Crowley, he gave you a key to his place. What more invitation do you need?” She squeezed and let go “What would your Bee say?”

He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip for a long moment before saying “She would say I needed to use my words.”

When Tracy shrugged at him he grouched at her “You are an evil woman.”

***********************************************  
Aziraphale paced up and down in the back of the shop, where he wouldn’t be heard, giving himself a right talking to.

“Bloody coward you are, not like it’s the first time you’ve kissed a man, what’s WRONG WITH YOU???? He’s not going to keep offering, you’re a grown man, start acting like it.”

He stared at himself in the grimy mirror in the tiny bathroom, hands braced on the ancient porcelain bowl, the words from his last therapist echoing in his head.

**“What would you do if you weren’t so afraid?”**

Closing his eyes, he skimmed his fingertips over his skin where Crowley’s had rested, brushing his thumb over his lips, the lightest teasing touch and he whispered “ _Everything”._


	15. Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short set of interludes to fill in a few gaps over the next few weeks.

**INTERLUDES**

_Approx 2am Boxing Day morning_

Aziraphale had developed the habit of taking his phone to bed so he could late night text with Crowley. But he hadn’t set any Do Not Disturb settings so when it rang loudly at around 2am he sat bolt upright in fright.

Heart pounding, he realised the appalling noise was his phone and not the fire alarm, groping to take the call.

“Um Hello?”

Anathema’s distinctive tones carolled down the phone line “Merry Christmas Dr F!”

“Oh Anathema, Merry Christmas to you my dear but its 2am Boxing Day here.”

She giggled tipsily “Oh shit, sorry got the timezones wrong. Just wanted to make sure you had a good day.”

Pulse slowing as the adrenaline stopped flooding his system, he lay back on the pillows “Actually I had a delightful day. How is Colorado?”

He let her tell him about the weather and her appalling family until he forgot himself with a jaw cracking yawn.

“Oh sorry Dr F, waffling on like an idiot. Sleep well, see you next year.”  
  
“It’s alright my dear, was lovely to hear from you. Enjoy your day.”

As he hung up he noticed an unread text

**Newt: Hey Dr F, hope you have a great Xmas Day**

Making a mental note to reply in the morning, he slid softly back into sleep with a smile on his face.

****************************************************************  
  
 _Around 8pm New Years Eve_

**AJC: [sends picture of Crowley, Warlock and Adam standing with a giant Mickey Mouse]**

**AJC: hey angel made it to Disneyland!**

**AJC: I cant decide if you would love it or hate it**

**AJC: Happy New Year!**

************************************************************   
  
_Mid January Oxford University_

Newt knocked lightly on the door frame of Anathema’s lab “Hey Ana, got a minute?”

She didn’t really but the deep frown on his face was unusual, so she put aside her paperwork “Sure, what’s up?”

He walked in, carefully closing the door behind him, pulling a handful of folded papers out of his pocket “I need some advice about what I should do with these.”

He handed her the papers which turned out to be several emails to Dr Fell’s Oxford email address. They started mid December and were initially condescending and rude, getting progressively ruder until the last ones were outright abusive.

What had been thinly veiled requests for a meeting changed to insistent demands and heavily implied threats. Anathema looked at Newt in concern “You didn’t send him any of these, did you?”

“Of course not, I met Gabriel once and he was an utter prick. I’m pretty sure he made Dr F cry and I know he only emails here because he doesn’t have any personal contacts for him.” Newt folded the papers, putting them back in his pocket.

“What should I do about it though? Some of the things he says, I’m a bit worried Ana.”

She chewed on a fingernail in thought “Maybe talk to the IT guys? Can he be banned from sending emails?”

Newt shrugged “Yeah kind of, but it’s a good idea. Should I show the Dean? Or the Police?”

The fingernail was getting quite ragged now “Yeah, maybe the Dean? But he’s not back for another couple of weeks. At some conference in Australia or something.”

_The Dean’s PA refused them an appointment, told them to email everything to her and she would pass it on. But by the time the Dean got back he had so many emails, he deleted a lot of non-essential ones unread. Including Newt’s._


	16. A Visit From Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale receives an entirely unwelcome visit from family. Crowley has to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****************************************************************
> 
> *cracks knuckles* Alrighty things are about to get all kinds of interesting.
> 
> And, yeah, sorry!
> 
> ****************************************************************

**(Warning for some homophobic language at the beginning)**

_Early February_

Crowley bounced up the steps of the bookshop in a good mood, between his and Aziraphale’s timetables lately, they had hardly seen each other. Today they were having lunch, catching a movie and likely dinner as well.

His keys jingled as he pulled them from his pocket, but frowned at the door, it was not only unlocked but not fully closed. The old lock stuck a bit in cold weather, needing a good hard push to shut it. Aziraphale was very concerned about the security of his books, having given Crowley a key he never left the door unlocked.

So instead of bounding in the door with a cheery “ANGEL!” he opened the door quietly, closing it carefully behind him, and walked lightly over the wooden floor, trying to avoid the squeakiest boards.

From the flat above he could hear the sound of two men talking loudly, it sounded like an argument. Actually, it sounded like a lot of angry yelling, the closer he got to the stairs and could hear better.

Aziraphales voice was taut with emotion “Gabriel, I’m warning you…”

Mocking laughter followed by a sneering American accent “You’ll do what exactly? Drop to your knees, and suck my cock? Is that what you need, you fucking soft little bitch?”

Clenching his fists in anger Crowley pulled out his phone, opened a video app and started recording. The sound would probably be shit, but he had learned a thing or two in his time.

Fiercely controlled Aziraphale replied “Yes, first you ask me for a favour and when you don’t get what you want, you insult me. How very….you...Gabriel. Except I could walk out on the street and find a rentboy who would do a better job for a fiver.” 

_That’s my boy! You cut him to shreds, the homophobic bastard. Mind you its Soho, he’s not wrong!_

Even Crowley could hear the stunned silence that received then the American growled “Why you little” and there was the meaty thud of flesh on flesh, and a pained cry, then a second one.

The flat door crashed open “Remember *that* next time you tell me no. Just you wait.”

Heavy feet clattered down the stairs as Crowley ducked behind the wall, filming as a tall darkhaired man in a pale grey suit strode angrily across the shop, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand with his left. Waiting til he had slammed shut the door and walked out of sight, Crowley raced over, locked it, snubbed the deadbolt for good measure and raced breathlessly up the stairs.

He realised his mistake when Aziraphale whirled, eyes wide and tear filled, blood streaming from a badly cut lip and a cut under his eyebrow. He had a finger up to the cut on his lip, blood smeared over his fingers.

Holding his hands up Crowley stopped, ignoring his racing heartbeat and the need to comfort, to wrap his arms around the man, he could tell from the glazed look in his eyes, too quick and shallow breaths that he was likely having a panic attack.

Speaking slowly, quietly Crowley started speaking, repeating over and over “Hey Angel, its me, Crowley. It’s okay, he’s gone, I’m here, I’m here for you Aziraphale. It’s Crowley.”

Careful to keep his hands visible and body language non-threatening, he talked and talked until slowly reason returned and Aziraphale came back from wherever he had gone inside his head. As the pain began to kick in, the shakes started, the blond swayed slurring “Crrroowley?”

Judging it safe to approach he darted in, grabbing the injured man before he toppled, steering him to the sofa “Here, I’ve got you, just a few steps more.” Lowering him onto the sofa, he wrapped him in a couple of the rugs to stave off shock. He wanted to tend to the cuts, the lip one looked nasty, but Aziraphale clung to him desperately.

Still panicky and unable to talk properly he said “Don’t leave me”

Wrapping his arms around a distraught Aziraphale, Crowley rocked him, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back as Aziraphale eventually succumbed, breaking down in gulping heartrending sobs, while Crowley murmured gentle nonsense.

While he was weathering the storm, one handed he sent out two texts, closing his eyes in relief at the replies, sending them both the same response WILL CALL YOU SOON, WILL NEED YOU ASAP.

Hiccupping, eyes red, nose streaming, blood smeared over his chin, Aziraphale looked bloody awful, but Crowley smiled grimly. Perfect. When Aziraphale finally pushed back, hands blindly grasping for something to wipe his face, Crowley held his wrist lightly “Hey Angel, you with me?”

_The look of utter despair and shame in those hollow looking eyes, now much more grey than blue as if all the colour had drained out of them, it absolutely broke his heart. What he had to do next was probably cruel, but very necessary._

Aziraphale nodded, looking bloody miserable (literally) and Crowley winced as he held his phone up “Angel, I need to take photos before you clean up, okay?” _He felt the other man tremble under his finger tips_ “Hey, I know, its fucking awful, but, Aziraphale, he assaulted you. We need evidence. Alright?”

He waited, giving the man space to process, until slowly, clearly reluctantly he nodded. Crowley adjusted his posture so the light was better, taking several photos, torso shots, showing the damage, the blood smeared on his face and hand, with close up ones from different angles.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Step One accomplished, he then sat next to Aziraphale, not close enough to touch and waited for a moment “First of all, don’t talk unless you need to, because its going to fucking hurt. Second, I’m going to call a couple of people to come round and help, one is a doctor and the other is with the police.”  
  
Aziraphale shook his head, making negative noises but Crowley waited him out. “Angel, this is outright assault, your lip needs stitches, and both of these people are acquaintances, they owe me a favour. They will come here and help and keep it all quiet. Do you want to go and sit in A&E for hours?”

_How could a pair of eyes express such bitter resentment and resigned acceptance all at once?_

Another reluctant nod and Crowley stood “I’m just going to call them and go downstairs and unlock the door, okay? Be back in a jiffy.”

_Crowley selected three of the photos to send to both recipients, along with the address and a summary of the incident. With a note that he was prone to panic attacks but he didn’t think there was a concussion._

_Two acknowledgements were sent instantly, both lived in the area (the surgeon lived in the same block of flats as Crowley) and would be there soon. He left the door to the flat open, so they could be heard coming, and not frighten Aziraphale anymore._

While they waited, he rummaged in the bathroom for a first aid kit, but it was pretty minimal, he dampened a washcloth, to clean up the mess from crying, as Aziraphale sat sniffing in pained misery.

He had another uncomfortable question to ask as there were no gloves in the first aid kit, and precautions needed to be taken.

“Shit, this is not how I wanted to have to ask this, but whats your status, angel?”

Frowning Aziraphale looked at him and then twitched as he realised what Crowley meant, nodding and saying carefully “Clear, full panel.” _Course he would, he was a nurse._ Nodding in reply Crowley replied absently “Yeah me too. Right, this is going to hurt, sorry.”

Dabbing very gently, he wiped his eyes, nose, cheeks, leaving as much blood behind as possible, but at least making the man feel a bit better, handing him some tissues “Here, blow but be careful.”

The cut on the lip was nasty, the damage on the inside was obviously teeth but Crowley suspected the outside was the result of a backhand from someone wearing a chunky ring. Probably deliberately so. He had seen that kind of damage before.

The tread of two feet and quiet male conversation announced the presence of visitors, and Crowley yelled “Up here guys.”

A tall burly with wavy brown hair, a face that had a lot of stories (including a broken nose) who carried himself with authority and the kind of situational awareness you usually see in military men was followed by a much slighter olive skinned man with dark curly hair, dark eyes that twinkled kindly and carrying a modern day doctors bag.

Crowley stood up, shaking both men’s hands in greeting “Hey, this is Dr Aziraphale Fell. Aziraphale meet DCI Mike Hutchinson and Dr Avi Guttenberg.”

Avi took one look at Aziraphales face and nodded to Mike, saying in softly accented English “May I attend your injuries Dr Fell?”

Making to speak and wincing Aziraphale nodded while Crowley said “The light in the bathroom is good if you need it.”

With a soft smile Avi approached the injured man “Are you alright to walk?” and gently steadying Aziraphale when he stood, then followed as he led the way to the bathroom.

Mike had prowled the room, eyes darting all over before settling on Crowley “Show me what you’ve got” he demanded brusquely and Crowley handed over his phone. He hadn’t had a chance to watch to the recording, so listened hard as Mike played it back. The conversation that Crowley had heard was muffled but they clearly heard Gabriels voice growl and speak before hearing Aziraphale cry out.   
  
Watching in satisfaction as Gabriel stalked across the screen, his profile clearly visible for a moment, Crowley smiled as Mike grunted in approval, his gravelly voice quiet “Yeah well done mate, good catch. The boffins might be able to pull more out of the file too. Send it to me?”

 _Crowley explained what he had overheard and Mike frowned. His youngest son was gay, and he had little time for bigots on a good day. Let alone entitled American ones_.

After checking out the entire premises Mike came back not looking happy “Absolutely no security cameras, but I’m guessing this is probably a heritage building, yeah?”

Shrugging Crowley replied “Yeah I think so, but he’s not great with technology. I’ll sort it though.” At the rather measuring stare the DCI gave him the redhead replied “He’s a friend. A good friend. And I take care of my own.”

Avi stepped out of the bathroom, peeling off bloody gloves “He’s going to need some stitches for that lip, whoever hit him intended it to hurt. A couple of butterfly strips for his eye but he’s going to have a hell of a headache.”

Turning to Crowley asking “Have you given him anything for the pain?”

“Nah, figured I would leave it to the professionals.” Avi nodded, laying a quiet hand on his shoulder “And are you alright? This has been a shock for you too?”

_Crowley knew he would completely lose it when he allowed himself to, but that was for much later._

“Yeah, I’m good, but thanks.”

“Alright, I’m going to stitch his lip now and give him something to calm him down.” Turning to the DCI he held his hands out in graceful apology “He isn’t in any state to talk just now, but he should be better tomorrow.”

Running a finger along a scar on his own lip the DCI nodded “Fair enough, thanks.” Avi headed back into the bathroom and Mike sighed “Got anything to drink?”

Raising his eyebrows at the quality of the Laphroaig Crowley carelessly splashed into a tumbler, Mike sat and sampled in appreciation for a moment “I need his statement, and we have enough to charge the American for assault but…” he twitched a shoulder “Nasty piece of work.”

Desperately wanting the burn of the whisky but knowing he needed to keep a clear head, Crowley said slowly “Gabriel is family and he put Aziraphale in hospital when they were kids. I think, if you charge him for this, it might make it worse.”

Savouring the whisky Mike eyed him over the glass “Got good instincts. I’m inclined to agree with you.” He sat forward, a musing look on his face “Does this Gabriel guy know about you?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never seen him before and I’m pretty sure he didn’t see me.”

“Hmmmm” finishing off the last of the whisky and contemplating the empty glass with a sad sigh he set it down with a click “I have an idea, but I need to talk to your Dr Fell first. Call me tomorrow, yeah?”

Crowley stood as Mike did and held out his hand, but Mike pulled him into a rough hug “Don’t thank me, catching this guy is reward enough, and I owe you, yeah?”

Smiling Crowley said with a smirk “Put him away and there is a bottle of what you were just drinking with your name on it. For your birthday and Christmas.”

With a rough chuckle Mike clapped him on one shoulder “Gonna hold you to that. See you tomorrow. Take care mate.” Heavy boots clattered down the stairs as the DCI left the premises, and Crowley picked up the bloodstained throws off the sofa, going in search of the laundry to put them to soak in cold water.

Avi was waiting for him in the lounge, writing on a notepad. Waiting until he was finished, Crowley anxiously wandered about, tidying things for something to do with his hands.

Avi’s beautiful voice pulled him out of his thoughts “Aziraphale is obviously very shaken, I’ve given him something to calm him and make him sleep and called in a script to a pharmacy. Here are the instructions on what to give him and when. A driver will deliver them later.”

Accepting the note the redhead smiled “Remarkably legible writing for a doctor!”

“Yes well, instructions only work if you can read them. The hard bit will be feeding him, only liquids for the next few days, soups, smoothies, he will have difficulty with a straw, so thin fluids. Can you manage that?”

Mentally cataloguing his kitchen cupboards Crowley nodded “Yeah consommé coming right up.”

“Excellent. He is taking a quick shower and then I want to put him to bed.” Avi hesitated but Crowley guessed what he was going to ask “Don’t worry, I’ll stay, as long as he needs me.”

Relaxing Avi smiled “Very good. I put in dissolving stitches but I will come back in a couple of days to check on him. Those dark eyes looked concerned and he asked again “Do you need anything Crowley?”

He could feel his hip aching under the tension he was holding himself under and knew it was only going to get worse “Some muscle relaxants would probably help. I’ve run out at home.”

“Good, if you are to take care of him, you must take care of yourself first. I will sort this for you also.” He laid a hand gently on Crowleys biceps “You are a good friend Anthony.”

Choking back a laugh “Remind me to tell you how I met him one day. Thanks Avi.”

“It will be my pleasure to come back and meet your Dr Fell properly, I am intrigued by the very impressive library downstairs.”

“Oh he will love that, talk your ear off about books if you let him.”

“I look forward to it, Yom tov Anthony.”

“Yom tov Avi.”

Crowley followed him down the stairs to lock the door behind him, returning to find Aziraphale clad in a soft fluffy tartan robe, looking a little lost and vaguely out of it.

“Hey Angel” he called softly _his heart clenched as the blond tried to smile, but the local anaesthetic hadn’t worn off, his face just twitched instead._

“Here, lets get you to bed, okay?”

Following along to make sure Aziraphale made it alright, he closed curtains, pulled back the heavy duvet, plumped some pillows, to find the blond standing blushing by the bed, fidgeting nervously with the robe.

“Be right back, get you some water.” The most graceful exit he could contrive to allow the man time to put on the pyjamas he obviously wasn’t wearing under the robe.

Rummaging in the cupboards, Crowley found a small milk jug with a short spout that he figured would be helpful for drinking, taking that and a larger jug of water and putting on the bedside table. Aziraphale was tucked into bed but when Crowley went to leave he said clearly “NO.”

Patting the bed beside him as he struggled to speak, Crowley asked “You want me to stay with you?” which received a very emphatic nod.

“Right, let me just sort everything out first.”

He turned the light off, casting the room in darkness, toed off his shoes, climbing onto the empty side of the bed, tugging the heavy cotton waffle rug up over him. Aziraphale was already breathing heavily, on his side, back to Crowley, so he snuggled up, daringly entwining his fingers in the other mans, and finally allowed himself to let go.

*****************************************  
  
He surprised himself by sleeping for a couple of hours, but his angel was out for the count, snoring in heavy rasps, drooling a little as the anaesthetic wore off.

Hard to believe it was only late afternoon, it had been a hell of a day. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of their missed lunch, so he carefully got up, padded to the lounge, figured out how to turn the fire onto low to tick over for the night, and assembled an eclectic meal from what he found in the fridge and pantry.

Eating he called Tracy and let her know he was likely to be out of action for the first few days of the week. He had some appointments he couldn’t put off on Thursday and Friday but ,Warlock and Pepper would be happy to stay and look after Aziraphale.

Remembering the drugs he checked downstairs and two blue paper bags had been shoved in the oversized old fashioned mail slot, one with his name on it and one with Aziraphales. Knowing he was only punishing himself if he didn’t take it, he washed the muscle relaxant down with some water.

Feeling grimy he indulged in a hot shower, grimacing with having to put his clothes back on, but he didn’t want to take the time to head home and get fresh ones. In case Aziraphale woke and found himself alone.

Having done everything he could, he grabbed a couple of extra throws from the sofa, climbed back on to the quite sinfully comfortable bed (it might even be better than his), tucked the rugs around himself, and fell asleep lulled by the quietly rhythmic snores of the man sleeping next to him.

_This is *not* how I imagined our first night together would go…. but nothing about this has been typical._

_Despite everything, he fell asleep with a look of contentment on his face._

**************************************************  
  
He roused to the ghostly feeling of fingers tracing the line of his jaw, clawing his way to the nearest thing resembling consciousness he would get without a large injection of coffee.

The presence of white walls and a much higher ceiling than his flat confused him until the events of the day before jerked him fully awake, a quiet voice next to him said indistinctly “Morning.”

He turned to see Aziraphale looking adorably sleep tousled, even with the impressive black eye forming and a swollen lip.

“Hey” Crowley replied and winced “God sorry, terrible morning breath.” Throwing off the rugs he rose and stretched, surprised to feel quite well rested “Comfy bed but god I need a shower and a change of clothes.”

Pulling the tartan robe over his tartan pyjamas (Crowleys eyes desperately wanting to bleed at the dreadful clash of patterns) Aziraphale said carefully “Bathroom.”

Crowley followed the blond to the bathroom, accepting the red toothbrush still sealed in the impenetrable plastic packaging “Yours.”

“Thanks angel.” After successfully freeing the toothbrush from its plastic prison and putting it to good use, plus splashing some cold water on his face he felt better, but still grimy. He was pretty sure he didn’t smell so great either. Working his fingers through the tangles in the ends of his hair he wandered into the lounge where Aziraphale was reading the note from Avi with two bottles in his other hand.

“How you feeling angel?”

“Sore, headache, hungry.”

“Yeah well you’ve got the makings of a truly impressive shiner by the looks. You can’t eat anything right now” when two pitiful blue eyes turned his way, he held his hands out in defence “Trust me, it would fucking hurt. Liquids only, soup and stuff.”

“You alright if I go home, get some clothes and stuff? I’ll stay for a few days if you want, do some cooking.” _Please say yes, please let me protect you, take care of you, make the pain go away, let me help, please…let me love you…_

He noticed the slightly panicked look fade when he announced he would come back, Aziraphale nodded, walked forward, hesitated then very carefully hugged him, saying quietly “Thankyou Crowley.”

_Face buried in the soft blond curls, Crowley breathed in the heady masculine smell of Aziraphale, resisting the urge to press kisses to the soft skin beneath his ear, tracing the line of his throat, nibbling along a collarbone before dipping further south…_

Instead he said gruffly “Don’t scare me like that.” Stepping back he searched the room for his jacket (fallen on the floor at some point), pulling it on, reaching into the pocket for his keys.

“Lock the door behind me, deadbolt it and don’t let anyone in that you don’t know, okay?” They walked downstairs, across the shop, and Crowley hovered in the open door “Probably be a couple of hours, make some cocoa, not too hot. I’ll come back with food, promise.”

_He waited while the door was locked and the deadbolt shot home before walking across the street._

***********************************************  
Spotting the white papers tucked under his wiper Crowley resignedly picked up the parking tickets, deciding it made more sense to leave the Bentley at home. Over a hundred pounds in parking fines would add up and he sure as hell didn’t want it to get towed.

Making a note on his phone to remember to pay them, crumpling the paper into the back pocket of his jeans, he didn’t hear a door open behind him so jumped when a deep voice said “Excuse me, is Dr Fell alright?”

He turned to face a stocky guy probably mid 20s, built like a boxer, tattooed forearms corded with muscle, but the brown eyes looking at him curiously were kind. He had stepped out of the Barber shop, his apron and branded shirt clearly marking him as staff.

Holding a hand out to shake “Logan Dennehy, this is my place.” The faded paint sign said Denney & Sons, Crowley said as he returned the handshake “Anthony J Crowley. I’m guessing you’re the & Sons bit?”

“Nah my dad retired last year, so just me now.” He gave Crowley a thorough once over “Seen you round here a few times” nodding at the Bentley “Bloody nice motor that.”

Smiling Crowley nodded “Yeah, cost me a fortune in parking tickets though.”

Wiping his hands on the apron Logan eyed him for a moment, before saying carefully “I heard that American bastard yelling at him yesterday, is he alright?”

 _Another witness can only help_ “Have you seen him before?”

Logan nodded “Only a few times over the past few years. But he used to visit a lot when I was a kid, sounded like a posh git then. Thought he was hot shit” Logan sneered with the jaded weariness only a true Londoner could embody “Always been an arsehole.”

Taking a chance, Crowley pulled out his phone, showing Logan one of the pictures of Aziraphale. He looked at him in alarm “Shit that looks nasty, he alright?”

“Yeah a doctor friend of mine sorted him out, he’s pretty sore.”

Logan gave him another one of those assessing glances “You off home then?”

“Yeah need to get some clothes so I can stay a few days, back in a couple of hours.”

The younger man nodded “I’ll keep an eye out, give me your number. Place locked up?”

Crowley rattled off his number, replying “Yeah, tight.” He waited while Logan programmed his phone before asking “How do you know Aziraphale?”

“He’s my landlord, owns most of that block and half of this one. My place, and those three as well.”

Startled Crowley gaped for a moment “He what?”

Cracking a laugh Logan seemed delighted “Hey you really didn’t know?” Crowley shook his head “His grandfather was a smart guy, bought out shops when they closed up during the war. Got everything for a steal. The family is loaded, but he used his own money, and Dr Fell inherited it.”

Mentally clocking up the likely millions that much Soho real estate was worth had Crowley reeling. No wonder he had no qualms about using a 500 quid scarf as a bandage for a total stranger.

“Umm shit, no I didn’t know. He’s a good landlord?”

“Mate that guy is an angel, he hasn’t put the rent up in over 10 years. Sorts any problems, and the local property developers are terrified of him. Offer him stupid money to sell, can’t believe he says no.”

Shaking his head, trying to process Crowley remembered the important thing “Hey, would you be willing to talk the Police, about what you saw?” Seeing the instant wariness set in, he said quickly “A friend of mine works at the Met, he’s helping. Just a quiet word, no need to go down to the Station.”

Brown eyes flicked to the side and back “Take me for a spin in your lovely motor and it’s a deal.”

Grinning because he knew he would get the better end of that deal Crowley shook “Done. Nice meeting you Logan.”

“Yeah you too, mate. Take care of him, he needs it.”

_I would dedicate the rest of my life doing just that if only he would let me._

*****************************************************


	17. Shower Revelations and Bathtime Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after the assault, Crowley and Aziraphale practice self care the best way that suits each other.....except sometimes you have to learn to accept the help of others...something they both struggle with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***********************************************
> 
> Lovely delicious readers! Thankyou for all your comments on the last chapter, I know it was hard going.
> 
> So here is a softer interlude - I've been on holiday for three weeks, hence the fast updates.
> 
> Today I went back to work so its going to take longer for the updates now. I try to craft chapters that contain important plot and character development elements, and make them a bit longer to contain enough info.
> 
> FWIW I think we are about halfway through the story now, the hard ground work is done, the bad guy is on the scene - things are about to get....interesting!
> 
> ***************************************************

Aziraphale made it to the sofa in the backroom before collapsing down, dizzy and shaking. Going nearly 24 hours without food, exhausted from shock and adrenaline and still waiting for the dregs of the sleeping pills to work out of his system, it was all a bit much.

Murmuring to himself “Low blood sugar, and you need electrolytes. Protein.” Fortunately his habit of staying up late to work paid off with the stash of energy drinks he kept in the tiny bar fridge in his workroom. Some rather careful fiddling about enabled him to pour the liquid in one corner of his mouth (spilling a bit down his cheek).

Waiting for the sugar to hit his system, he eventually felt up to tackling the stairs. There were sports drinks tucked in the pantry for ‘just in case’ moments, one had a spout letting him easily squirt the liquid without hurting his mouth much.

Despite Crowley’s advice not to eat, he was famished, plus his medication required some food to be present. It was not his first time with a fat lip (nor the first Gabriel had given) so he pulled cheese and cold meats out of the fridge. Cutting them up into tiny bits allowed him to carefully chew and swallow.

Washing down the slow release anti-inflammatory and painkillers with more nasty orange sports drink, he lay on the sofa, closing his eyes and waiting for the aches in his face to hopefully reduce.

_Gabriel charging into the bookstore, slamming the flat door open, ranting and angry rather than starting with his usual smarm, yelling about being ignored, about being family, that he was ‘owed’ by Aziraphale….stunned when he was denied again and again, defaulting to physical brutality when intimidation didn’t work._

_Aziraphale felt shame and anger about being seen by Crowley in such a state, even when he knew he was a blameless victim. Gabriels own stupidity and entitlement were to blame, along with the morally dubious upbringing provided by his religious bigot of a father._

_Yet….he was proud to have stood up to the other man, something the younger him had longed to do but been too terrified….Crowley had been so strong, supportive, only wanting to help._

_Aziraphale had both personal and professional experience of trauma, so he appreciated how Crowley had offered solutions or options and let Aziraphale make the choices. He hadn’t treated him as weak or broken, merely someone in need of help that Crowley was willing to offer._

_He had respected Aziraphales boundaries and needs, been nothing but kind, patient, quietly getting on with what needed to be done._

_It felt nice….being taken care of….respectfully, kindly with no ulterior motive. Crowley gave off a certain ‘devil may care’ impression a lot of the time, but Aziraphale knew underneath he was kind, generous, thoughtful._

_For one who loved so deeply and who had been hurt profoundly, his capacity to care was baffling to Aziraphale, who had chosen isolation rather than complicate his life further with personal entanglements._

Realising his headache had faded, he headed to the bathroom for a long hot soak in the bath. Looking at his battered face in the mirror, he winced as he poked at the dark bruising around his left eye, in another day it would be spectacular.

Wanting desperately to clean his teeth, he opted for rubbing some toothpaste around with a finger, at least the mint taste made him feel fresher.

Taking off his robe, hanging it up, he slowly unbuttoned his pyjama top, pulling it off with a wince. Four oval bruises by his right collarbone showed dark on his pale skin (he knew the thumb print was pressed deep into his trapezius, Gabriel liked to dig in hard). His upper left bicep also showed stripes of bruising from the fist that had wrapped around and squeezed deep.

He hadn’t shown those to anyone, not even the delightful doctor that Crowley had miraculously provided. Fingers roamed over the long-healed scars on his body, forearms, ribs, small reminders of the ‘accidents’ he had suffered at the hands of his cousins.

Finally, the bath was full of enough hot water, he ran the cold until it was perfect, carefully lowering himself into the steaming water, turning bright pink on immersion. Folding a towel under his head, he lay back, closed his eyes and let the heat soak into his abused body.

*************************************************

Despite the solid nights sleep, Crowley felt wrung out. Hung over on stress and adrenaline withdrawal, body clamouring for caffeine and food (in that order) he had stopped at a café on the way for a long black and a muffin, which he choked down in the lift on the way up to his flat.

Abandoning his jacket, keys and phone on the slab of a dining table he headed for the bathroom, shedding clothes on the way. Turning on all the jets in his fancy glassed in shower, he stared at himself in the mirror.

Lean but muscular, all angles and lines, harsh edges and looks that he had learned to weaponise, his gaze roamed over his body. Once it had seemed alien, unfamiliar but the kindness and wisdom of a Japanese grandfather had taught him how to connect with his new self.

Turning he traced the lines of scar around his hip, down the length of his thigh, now faded pale silver and only the puckering of the skin in some areas giving away their existence. His fingers drifted to the other marks on his skin, ones he had chosen, designed and willingly allowed the artist to use pain to work art permanently into his skin.

It was a message and a reminder.

_Long fingers gripped the edge of the sink, turning white under the pressure, Crowley relived the moment he cradled the wounded sobbing body of the man he was falling in love with….fuck it all…_

_It was every tentative smile, sideways glance, shared laughter, how comfortable they were with each other…like they had always been friends. Aziraphale grounded him in some ineffable way, didn’t judge him for his past, inherently understood the impact of trauma, respected his boundaries (too much if the truth be known)._

_Sheltered and a little insular in his fortress of books, god awful with technology and acutely out of date with modern life but by deliberate choice. Aziraphale had found what made him happy and embraced as much of that as he could and Crowley looked forward to expanding those horizons, more than he should probably._

_Fuck, the man didn’t even own a TV!_

_Bee’s careful guidance had revealed his own deep-seated abandonment issues, how the repeated trauma from his birth mother and adopted mother both dying, his adopted father drinking himself to death had led to behavioural issues which continued to isolate him. He learned painfully that loving people hurt because they left you._

_So, he left them first, over and over, never fully committing and never finding that connection he so desperately needed._

_Not until an angelically blond man literally stumbled across him in the street, asking nothing of Crowley other than…..he be himself._

_Whatever that looked like._

The bathroom filled with steam, fogging the mirror, so Crowley dragged himself into the shower, groaning as the hot water poured over him, letting the water soak into his scalp, turning his hair slick burnt umber down his back.

Bracing his arms on the wall, letting the water fall with intent over his hip and thigh, he leaned his forehead against the damp marble tiles. With a full body shudder he let go of his tightly held walls, giving himself permission to release all the emotion he had locked away.

Trembling as tears streaked down his face, tasting the salt on his lips, playing the image of a broken bloody Aziraphale in his head, gasping out guttural harrowing sobs, collapsing to the bottom of the shower, folding up and howling his pain into the water puddled tiles.

Fists clenched so tight he left cuts in his palms, rocking and letting the water wash every ounce of fear and terror out of him, til he was gasping, hoarse and breathless.

On his hands and knees, back arched up against the stinging onslaught of the shower head, half blinded by the hair hanging in soaking dreads, he began to laugh….

_He had always known that being in love would bring him to his knees, this just wasn’t *quite* how he had imagined it ……_

_Bitter and broken in body and mind, yet he still had the basic human desire to love and be loved, Bee will have a field day…and wasn’t *that* going to be a fun conversation._

Tipping shampoo into one hand, he began working it into his gloriously ridiculous mane, followed by conditioner, working body wash into every crevice. As he leaned into the flow of water, running fingers over his scalp to remove every last bit of lather, he almost felt baptised.

_Clean, dressed in fresh clothes, hair dried into artfully dishevelled waves, the realisation of how he felt about Aziraphale rested like a banked coal in the middle of his chest, a secret he would hold close until the time was right to fan it alight, let it become a living breathing entity, tying the two of them together._

_He provided the fire, it was Aziraphale who was the life-giving air and sunlight.  
  
Before him, his world had been dark, dull and suffocating, its unending familiarity hiding the reality from Crowley._

Cursing his kitchen implement buying habit, pulling drawers and cupboards open as he searched for his top end stick blender (more importantly, the necessary attachments to make it work), raiding his herb selection, grabbing a couple of cookbooks, cleaning his fridge out of perishable goods and finding a box in the complex recycling area, he loaded everything in.

Grabbing a sportsbag, he loaded up clothes for a few days, laptop and charger (plus phone charger), toilet bag (leaving his own toothbrush at home).

Pausing to water and growl in passing at his plants, he organised a ride share, clearing his mailbox in the lobby while he waited for it to arrive.

*******************************************************  
  
Juggling the box and the bag, he managed to get both locks on the bookshop door open (pleased he remembered to ask for the deadbolt key as well), locking both behind him, he listened. No music, so probably Aziraphale was asleep again.

Toeing off his shoes at the top of the stairs, he padded softly across the rugs, depositing his bag on the soft, the box in the kitchen, where he unpacked quietly, finding space in the fridge for his food.

A moment to assess his options, finding a notepad on the bench, he began to scrawl a shopping list of necessary supplies, opening and sniffing a few containers. A few went back in the fridge and a few went in the bin.

Unpacking his laptop, he put it on the sofa, uncertain of where to put his bag of clothes (not wanting to assume *anything* here) he left it against the wall out of the way.

Finally he grabbed his toilet bag, he got the door open and most of the way in before the naked blond man in the bathtub yelled indistinctly “DON’T YOU KNOCK???”

With a rather graceless “URK!” Crowley retreated rapidly, closing the door, heart pounding.

“Fuck, sorry Angel! I thought you were in bed!” raising his voice to be heard through the solid wooden door.

Rather grumpily from the other side, with the sound of splashing as water cascaded of the _*naked wet warm pink angelic soft body*_ Aziraphale replied “It didn’t occur to you to check? __  
  
FUCK! Get it together Crowley “

“Ummm I didn’t want to wake you? Shit, I’m really sorry angel, lived by myself too damn long.”

The door opened to a deliciously ruffled pink and white angel, towel wrapped around his waist as he pulled his dire tartan robe closed, tying it shut with a huff, but the sight of the genuinely distressed Crowley made him stop with a sigh.

“Its alright my dear, you are not alone in that. There is a lock on the door but I’ve never had cause to use it. Forgot.”

Taking the opportunity to deposit his toilet bag on the vanity, he opened the window and turned the extractor fan on, closing the door behind him. Aziraphale was gazing at the contents of his box strewn across the bench with some consternation.

“How’re you feeling angel?”

_Pale bare feet are exposed to his hungry view, toes and ankles and enticingly lush curves of calf and knee, just waiting to welcome him home, let him lose himself in the warm solid comfort of his embrace…_

“Crowley! Are you even listening to me?”

Shaking his head to clear it “Sorry, what?”

Aziraphale stepped forward “Are you alright, you’re a little flushed?” He reached out to press the backs of his fingers against Crowleys cheek and his robe gaped open at the movement.

Quick as a striking snake Crowley’s hand snapped around one plump still damp wrist, his other hand lifting the collar of the robe enough to reveal the pattern of dark bruises along his right collarbone, carefully not touching the pale skin.

Letting go he stepped back, the fierce anger in his expression halting any objection from Aziraphale, he growled “Show me.” Nervous fingers tangled themselves in the lapels, pulling them closed and Crowley growled again, putting a bite into it.

“Aziraphale. Show. Me. Where. He. Hurt. You.”

Hesitantly, eyes downcast, Aziraphale untied the belt, opening the robe, dropping it down over both shoulders, revealing two new sets of bruises to Crowleys fuming anger. Stalking around to see the damage, he gritted his teeth, too angry to speak and merely shook his head instead.

Disappearing back into the bathroom, he came back with a small white tube in one hand “Its arnica, good for bruises. Let me?”

_Let me help, let me care for you, oh….please let me show you how I can love you…_

Hesitantly Aziraphale said quietly “I’m sorry.”

It stopped Crowleys simmering anger like a bucket of ice water “You have nothing to apologise for, angel.”

Bluegrey eyes caught his gaze for a moment, before glancing away “I’m not good at letting people….help…I’m not trying to be difficult…but..”

Crowley busied himself with taking the lid off the tube, putting it down somewhere it could be found again and smearing white cream on his finger tips, warming it up.

“But everyone who tried just fucked it up and made it worse most of the time? Yeah angel I know. Turn around love, yell if it hurts, but I need to rub it in to have any benefit.”

_Aziraphale trembled at the hot breath across the back of his neck as Crowley spoke, the cool soothing touch of the cream rubbed in with the gentlest of caresses, resisting the urge to step backwards into the tall redheads embrace, let those clever careful fingers find their way across every inch of him, followed by that sinful mouth…._

Crowley felt the other man shiver under his touch, hissing “Sorry angel” as he carefully dabbed, easing the cream into the delicate bruised skin.

_Crowley could dip his head, press kisses up the fine line of that neck, suck and nibble on the kitten soft earlobe, nuzzle his way down his throat, pausing to savour the divots and hollows along his collarbone, imagining the sighs and moans his efforts might elicit…._

The air around them felt electric, one man tending the other, both being so open and vulnerable, the intimacy between them now charged with the energy of raw emotion.

Something had to give.

With a sigh Crowley stepped back “All done” he found the cap, put it back and handed the tube to Aziraphale, who had pulled the robe messily back across his shoulders.

“For later, if you like.”

But Aziraphale stared at him enigmatically before handing it back “Much easier if you do it, my dear.”

_And so, that, apparently, was that._


	18. Basic Human Decency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Aziraphales past is revealed, questions are asked and some rather surprising answers are given.
> 
> Conclusions about Gabriels motivations are considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***********************************************************
> 
> Hi patient readers! The past couple of weeks have been HARD - returning to work after three delicious weeks holiday.
> 
> I've been really tired (cos I'm a chronic night owl) plus my brand of meds has changed and its giving me really vivid dreams and making me super tired.
> 
> Plus this chapter was challenging to write. Working hard on the next one!
> 
> *************************************************************************

While it broke Crowleys heart to boil vegetables into near mush, they would blend better into soup. He had a vegetable stock simmering on the stove, some reasonable chicken stock from the supermarket put aside.

He hummed quietly to himself as he cooked, wireless earbuds wedged firmly in as he sashayed and swayed in time to the music. Draining and mashing broccoli and potatoes, tasting the stock, making a roux, slowly blending the hot stock in to make a creamy soup base. Layer by layer, bit by bit he assembled soup, until he deemed it satisfactory for his angels discerning taste buds.

Who was sitting, elbows firmly resting on the benchtop, watching with undisguised interest as Crowley eventually dished up a bowl of creamy fragrant soup, sliding a porcelain Asian soup spoon alongside.

Unable to make his usual noises of appreciation, Aziraphale simply applied himself to enjoying the soup, sitting back with a pleased sigh “Delicious Crowley. Thankyou.”

Setting aside the pot to cool, Crowley began to tidy up and do dishes, but Aziraphale chased him out of the kitchen “You cooked, I’ll clean up.”

Realising he probably wanted something useful to do, Crowley retreated. Noting the time, he asked “Are you up to seeing Mike today, angel?”

Pausing drying a pot with a teatowel, the blond looked unhappy but nodded anyway “How much will I need to tell him?”

Understanding the unasked question Crowley replied seriously “As much as you feel comfortable, but the more information he has, the better.”

********************************************  
  
The detective arrived a couple hours later, Aziraphale fussed with tea and biscuits until Crowley growled “Angel, he’s not here for bloody fancy teacups.”

Watching the blond man wilt under the implied criticism Crowley walked over, wrapping long arms around him gently “Sorry, that wasn’t kind” he murmured into fluffy blond hair “Want me to give you some privacy?”

_Heart breaking at how desperately and tightly Aziraphale clung to him trembling, knowing how painful this telling of truths was going to be, he remained steadfast, just being there, for as long as his angel needed him._

With a full body shudder, Aziraphale sighed, stepped away and attempted to smile, but the stitches made him wince instead, so he gathered up his tea, and sat on the sofa, facing Mike who was in his normal spot in the recliner.

Mike raised one eyebrow in a question, Crowley replied with a onesided shrug, taking his seat next to Aziraphale, close enough to be in reach if he needed.

A laptop sat humming, with a USB drive plugged in one side and a microphone plugged in the other. Mike had explained the setup, that it was being recorded and backed up, covered off the basic process, the kinds of questions he would ask and summarised the objectives of what the interview was intending to achieve.

The detective had a notepad and pen put aside, but the point of the recording was for Aziraphale to be able to relax, talk freely, and Mike to be able to reference it as required for any further questions.

Crowley broke the silence “Angel, before we start, I think you should show Mike the bruises.”

A pair of blue eyes stared mulishly at the redhead, who merely waited for the unwilling acquiescence. Removing his old shabby velvet waistcoat (worn for its comfort and familiarity), unbuttoning his shirt, to reveal a white vest underneath. Pulling the shirt off revealed purplish bruises around his left arm, sliding the top of the vest off the shoulder showed the deep imprints of clearly identifiable fingertips dug deep into flesh.

Holding up his phone in a silent request for permission, the detective took front and back photos of both injury sites, as well as some full torso images for scale. Gesturing for Aziraphale to put his clothes back on, he uploaded the images to the Met cloud account, quickly tapping out notes on the keyboard.

Mike sat back, smiling a little at the luxurious comfort of the recliner “Not my usual setup this, could get used to it.”

Crowley drawled “You mean this is better than institution grey walls, squeaky plastic office chairs and coffee that tastes like its been distilled out of sweaty jockstraps?”

Mikes eyes crinkled as he smirked at Crowley “Spent a bit of time down at the Old Bill, mate?”

“Doubt its changed much since I did.” Crowley managed to wiggle enough to slide a hand in behind Aziraphale, pressing it lightly to the small of his back, offering silent support via the physical connection.

The tall brown haired detective slouched even deeper into the expensive leather caress of the recliner, closing his eyes in momentary bliss “Seen these in the fancy magazines the missus gets” A nod to Crowley “The kind your lot feature in.” Battle scarred fingers stroked the soft grain of the leather “Bit outside my budget. Nice to know they are worth the price though.”

Crowley sighed dramatically “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been allowed to sit in it!”

Aziraphale began to splutter in outrage “You’ve never…I didn’t…its perfectly…..” He stopped at the sight of Crowley grinning widely at him and smiled fondly back “Oh you fiend.” But it was exasperation, not annoyance.

_Mike tilted the tiniest nod Crowleys way, acknowledging his efforts in the banter to break the ice and get Aziraphale to relax a bit. A slow salacious wink was the reply._

Fretting his fingers together nervously, Aziraphale eyed the recording equipment “Should I, umm, just start then?”

Making sure the mic was on, and recording was happening, speaking clearly he started the interview with the usual police procedures, finishing up with “Please just speak normally. Lets begin with the events of Saturday 18th February 2020 at the premises of AZ Fell bookshop.”

Hesitantly Aziraphale began to speak “Gabriel, umm, my cousin Gabriel Fell visited me yesterday. He was very agitated, angry that I had been somehow ignoring him, demanding money, claiming because I was family I somehow owed him whatever he wanted.”

Shoulders hunched as he flinched in memory (Crowley started moving his hand in small soothing circles) the blond shook his head “I had no idea what he was so upset about. I haven’t heard from him in months, maybe longer. Not since….”

“Mmm?” prompted Mike quietly.

“Not since the last time he wanted money.”

“Did you agree to give him some?”

Aziraphale sat upright, stiff with outrage, and gestured at his face “Does it look like I did? Of course I said no. Gabriel is a stupid entitled idiot who has already thrown away the fortune he inherited from his father. I don’t owe him anything!”

“How much money was he wanting, exactly?”

Aziraphale huffed dismissively “Oh half a million pounds or so?”

Mike exchanged a quick glance with Crowley “And you have sufficient funds available to loan, if you wanted to?”

A careless shrug of shoulders “My personal account has around two million roughly, but I would use the business funds if I was going to loan anything. Which I’m very definitely NOT.”

Bushy brown eyebrows raised in inquiry “So how much do you have available in the business account?”

“Accounts dear boy, and I would have to check with my accountant and solicitor, but in excess of ten million pounds usually.”

Crowley asked quietly “Angel how much are you worth?”

“Personally or on behalf of the Estate?”

“Ummm lets go with personally.”

Blue eyes lost focus as he thought for a moment “Well it depends on the market for rare books at any given point in time, and the realestate situation, but if I cashed up, ooooh well in excess of fifty million or so.” He smiled calmly “At a rough guess, anyway.”

Crowley wasn’t poor himself, but even these numbers were a bit on the startling side, and he stared at Aziraphale for a long moment and then laughed “So you probably eat at the Ritz, like once a week then?”

“Oh no, dear boy, usually only a couple of times a month.” He carried on serenely “It wouldn’t do to be *too* indulgent.”

Mike sat forward, needing to bring the discussion back on track “Quite. So you mentioned Gabriel had inherited a fortune… what happened there?”

Had Aziraphale been able to smile properly, it would have been one of smug satisfaction “Well Gabriel is the oldest of three, Michael and Uriel are his sisters. Religious family, hence the silly names.”

Mike nodded and gestured to carry on “When my Uncle Sandy, their father died, Gabriel inherited his estate, but it had been badly managed financially and was only worth a few million plus there was Inheritance Tax that applied. The family seat also needed a lot of expensive repairs.”

Shrugging Aziraphale continued “Gabriel made some bad investments, plus his sisters have expensive taste in fashion, travel and drugs. Uriel apparently needs to go into rehab for the third time, which is what Gabriel wanted me to pay for.”

“Bloody expensive rehab to cost that much?” queried the detective.

“Oh there was something about roof repairs, I honestly wasn’t paying too much attention. That’s when he grabbed me, the first time.”

Mike scratched some notes as the silence lingered, Crowley saying quietly “Angel, didn’t you tell me you gave them the estate. To buy them off, when your grandfather died?”

The blond began radiating an aura of deep satisfaction “You do have a good memory Crowley. Yes, Gabriel got his fathers finances and assets, but the house they lived in belonged to my grandfather. And he left everything of his to me. Along with the family solicitor who is *very* experienced in the ways of inheritance laws in relation to land assets.”

He was near glowing with delight as he continued “I agreed to sign over their family home AFTER I had it entailed into a trust that restricts them from being able to sell the property. It can only be inherited by a descendant of myself or my three cousins.”

Brown eyes were twinkling as Mike asked “So, whats the catch?”

“Gabriel is sterile, he had mumps as a teenager. Michael will never have children and the reason Uriel is a drug addict is she had polycystic ovaries, resulting in a hysterectomy in her early twenties.”

“So you signed them over a property in need of expensive upkeep, but they don’t have the option to sell it and get rid of it?” Crowley sounded delighted.

“Well there was a clause that allowed them to return it back to the family estate, but then they would either have to pay an appropriate amount of rent. Or move out.”

“Didn’t Gabriel check all this before he signed it?” Mike sounded genuinely curious.

Nodding “Yes he did, but his solicitor didn’t have the experience in estate inheritance to understand the full details.” He shrugged “Nor had Gabriel bothered to learn anything about what it costs to maintain a heritage house and grounds. His father had an estate manager who handled everything, so he had no idea either.”

Crowley asked “How did you learn about it?”

“My grandfather had a stroke when I was sixteen, he wasn’t strong enough to take care of all the business details, so he taught me. I helped him get good staff in to manage all the businesses, set up trusts and did all the smart things you need to do when someone is going to pass away.”

Softly the redhead said in a tone of realisation “You stayed and took care of him. That’s why you went into nursing, wasn’t it?”

“I thought it was my calling, so to speak. But Matron was right, I was not a good fit for it. By then my grandfather had passed on, and I discovered he had left me everything. It was rather shocking, actually.”

The detective had more questions about Gabriel “What happened when Gabriel found out about the entailed estate? He can’t have been happy?”

This had the blond man immediately hunched and protective again, Crowley could feel him shaking under his hand, saying “Did he hurt you then too?”

_Gabriel had been furious, screaming redfaced in rage. Aziraphale had made the mistake of letting him in, his cousin all obsequious politeness until they were upstairs, away from public view. His blond hair hid the scar where his head had been smacked into the hard edge of the doorframe (leaving a dent and smear of blood behind)._

_Concussed, shaken and badly frightened, he had made his way across the street, scaring the living daylights out of poor Brian Dennehy, the kind barber across the street, who had called a taxi, closed up the shop and gone with him to the hospital._

_Six stitches later, with an agonising headache, Aziraphale was kept overnight for observation, and then for a second night when he had another panic attack about going back to the bookshop alone._

_He made sure to upgrade the facilities for Brian’s shop over the next year or so as thanks._

“Gabriel was livid, but he had signed the contract. Nothing I did was illegal, in fact its very common practice, if you have a solicitor with the knowledge and experience to do it properly.”

Mike grunted in agreement “Yep, especially in those titled families. Lots of benefits of putting land assets into a trust. When was this, exactly?”

“After I stopped nursing so 1996.”

“Jesus Angel, you were only 25, and you had to deal with all that shit?”

Aziraphale leaned a bit on him, humming quietly “Much same age you were, my dear, if I recall correctly.”

Amber eyes regarding him soberly “Not a good year for either of us then.”

Interrupting with a rasping cough, the detective frowned at his notes and then at Aziraphale “So we have a pattern of assault and physical abuse, I’m going to need to pull the hospital records for the incident you dodged around.”

“But!” red with shame or embarrassment, Aziraphale wanted to object, but the detective shot him a very serious look, and the blond subsided grudgingly.

“Dr Fell, as I understand it, your current existence is all that’s standing between Gabriel potentially inheriting your estate, or at the very least, removing you from the equation would make it a lot easier for him to get his hands on it.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, paused and closed it again, looking thoughtful.

Mike continued “We have evidence that Gabriel has a temper and is willing to use violence as a means to an end. There is enough to likely convict him for assault, but that isn’t going to stop him. That much money is an awful lot of motivation.”

He eyed Aziraphale before asking “How did your parents die?”

“Tree came down across a blind corner in a storm. They hit it head on, apparently.”

“I’m sorry to have to ask this, but why were they out that night?”

“They attended the Easter Vigil for Good Friday at the local church. I didn’t go that year because I’d been ill with the chickenpox.” Aziraphales voice trailed off and he stared at the detective as wheels started to turn in his brain “Are you suggesting that it might not have been an accident?”

The detective shrugged “Mere speculation, but it would have been easy enough to interfere with the brakes or loosen the wheel nuts or something similar. Would you normally have attended the Vigil?”

“We usually went as a family, but my parents were unhappy with Uncle Sandy. He bought my cousins around to visit, that’s how I got the chickenpox. It had gone around their school.”  
  
************************************************************

_As Aziraphale kept talking, revealing all the physical cruelty, vicious petty taunts that a shy gentle grieving child had been subjected to, a child who had only known love and kindness, Crowley began to understand his adult reticence and isolation._

_Where Crowley had been born into cruelty and rejection, enduring similar torments to Aziraphale in fostercare, he had been incredibly lucky to have the gift of a loving family given to him when he was old enough to appreciate it._   
  
_Instead Aziraphale had the opposite, born and raised into a loving family, having everything he knew ripped away from him with no explanation. He was offered no kindness at an age where he was able to understand all too well (as it continued) that love was brief and pain was eternal._

_It made sense that he found peace in books, they couldn’t hurt him with sarcasm, belittle him, gaslight and undermine his already shaky self-confidence. He built himself a protective cocoon, taking delight in the things that he loved, music, food, books, art, opera and always the written word in all its forms._

_Crowley ached to protect that terrified child who had grown into a kind, funny, clever, intelligent and caring man, despite everything he had experienced. Broken and damaged, undeniably, yet Crowley could feel how his own broken pieces might fit against Aziraphales, lacking only the gold dusted lacquer to bond them into a stronger whole._

When Aziraphale stuttered to a halt, leaning hard against Crowleys shoulder, tears overflowing down his cheeks, Crowley wrapped long arms around him, gathering the distraught man into his embrace as he ran long soothing strokes up and down the tense back.

Silently Mike began to pack up his gear, he knew it wasn’t the full story but it was enough to show a clear history of abuse by Gabriel and his family against a likely innocent victim. As he left he said quietly to Crowley “We need to talk”, and the redhead replied “Tomorrow.”

_Dangerously aware of how good it felt to have Aziraphale in his arms, the temptation to press his lips to skin, take his time revealing every delicious inch of that perfect pale skin, to show his Angel how loved, how precious he was…._

_Crowley wanted to drop to his knees in worship and it was entirely fucking inappropriate,_

_but oh…_

_…he had been untouched for so very long…_

“C’mon angel, lets run you a nice hot bath, hmmmm while I whip us up some dinner. How does risotto sound?”

Affirmative noises and head nodding happened in the direction of his shoulder but no further movement.

Tightening his arms around the blond, Crowley murmured “What do you need me to do Aziraphale? How can I help?”

After a long moment, Aziraphale heaved a heavy sigh, sitting back, wiping at his tearstained face, abusing the cuffs of his white shirt as he sniffed, blinking sticky eyelashes at the redhead _Fuck how does he manage to cry adorably?_

“A bath sounds lovely” he looked away, rubbing at his cheeks with the shirt cuffs, then fiddling with them “Its very…kind…of you…to look after me like this, Crowley” who felt something dark and heavy settle into his soul at how defeated Aziraphale sounded.

_He was going to make sure that Gabriel got his fucking comeuppance if it was the last thing he did._

As he stood up, hauling Aziraphale to his feet Crowley muttered darkly “I’m not kind angel. Giving someone the respect and care they deserve isn’t kindness. Its fucking basic humanity, something your arsehole relatives obviously lack.”

He paused, saying lightly “I’ve known a few arseholes in my time, angel, and I’d take a Soho rentboy over that lot any day.”

Spluttering with startled laughter, Aziraphale smiled as he shut the bathroom door, while Crowley locked the bookshop, then prepared dinner while singing along to Mummers Dance by Loreena McKennit. 

_His singing wasn’t anymore tuneful than his humming, but Aziraphale didn’t mind in the slightest._


	19. Nightmares and Unexpected Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley deals with the fallout by making plans and cooking. A lot of cooking.
> 
> Aziraphale really just tries to keep it all together.
> 
> Plans are made. A lot of technology is acquired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **************************************************************************  
> Delicious readers - finally all our cards are on the table (or are they?) 
> 
> Picking the pace up now, a couple of chapters to lay the groundwork to transition into the rest of the story arc
> 
> Hopefully it all makes sense in the end!
> 
> *************************************************************************

Deciding pyjamas and a robe were ideal dinner eating attire, Aziraphale dutifully took his medication when prompted by Crowley, who threatened to withhold dinner until the deed was done. Complaining the painkillers made him sleepy, Aziraphale had subsided grumpily when asked a little snarkily “Would you rather lie there and just hurt instead?”

In apology, because Crowley knew the pain was genuine, he made butterscotch sauce out of a fossilised packet of brown sugar found buried in Aziraphales sadly undersupplied pantry.

A warm hand on his back as he was rinsing dishes at the sink, with a quiet “Delicious, my dear” let him know the peace offering had been accepted, then Aziraphale let out a yawn.

“Leave those, I’ll do them in the morning. Towels are in the bathroom if you want a shower.”

Crowley did indeed want a shower, but another question he needed the answer to first. Nervously drying his hands on a towel he said “Umm Angel, where am I sleeping tonight?”

Hesitating in the middle of putting the room to rights before bed, Aziraphale replied “Oh, well, I was hoping you would stay with me, again” he looked a little uncertain “If you like?”

Crowley smiled, switching the light off in the kitchen on the way out “Sounds good, was bloody comfortable last night, even if somebody snored all night…”

Aziraphale paused with one hand on the doorframe, looking over his shoulder at Crowley and raised a mocking eyebrow “Well if you wake up in the middle of the night with a pillow over your face, you’ll know why then.”

Growling “Oh shut it” he grabbed his go bag, and retreated to the bathroom, for the rather pitiful delights of the ancient hot water system. Still the water was hot even if the pressure was minimal, soon he was clean, clad in his favourite black satin pyjamas, hair plaited to keep it under control.

Padding barefoot and wincing at the cold floor in the bedroom, he muttered “Need to get you one of those heat transfer systems, its bloody freezing in here.”

A dim lamp lit to lead him…..home….to the other side of the bed, while sleepy voice came from the dark “It’s warm in here Crowley.”

Expecting to sleep on top of the covers, like the previous night, he was startled to find the blankets pulled back in obvious invitation. Switching the light off, he slid in between the expensively soft cotton sheets, appreciating the thread count, nervously wondering what to do with himself.

Aziraphale rolled over, burrowed his way to Crowley, snuggled his pillow down on top of Crowleys shoulder, nestled in, wrapping an arm across a satin clad chest, mumbling “Mmmm smell good.”

Within a few minutes his breathing had settled into a soft rhythm, grumbling a little as the redhead settled them both into a more comfortable configuration.

_Turning his head to gently press a kiss to the wispy blond curls tucked up against him, he breathed in the faint scent of lavender and something else…_

_…something herbaceous…_

_…not eucalyptus…_

_As he fell into a doze, his brain supplied the elusive word….rosemary_

_For remembrance._

**************************************************  
Aziraphale had fallen quickly into a deep sleep, lulled by the drugs and the warmth of the man in his bed (he would be mortified to vaguely remember snuggling up to Crowley without even a by your leave the next morning).

It took a while for the thrashing and moaning to rouse him, but even half-awake as he was, the ringing scream that echoed off the high rafters of the bedroom startled him to adrenaline fuelled wakefulness.

Confused, groggy, pulse pounding he opened his eyes in the darkness, when Crowley jerked abruptly moaning louder and louder “no….no…No…NO!”

Aziraphale realised it was a nightmare, although it sounded entirely horrifying from the broken cries and whimpers the redhead was making as he tossed and turned, legs jerking as if he was running. Protocol was generally not to wake someone, but Crowleys growing level of agitation was concerning.

If he moved anymore violently, he might accidentally throw himself off the bed. Or land a hit on Aziraphale himself. As Crowley writhed, muttering half heard words, heaving gasping breaths that became sobs, talking louder and louder til he was yelling

“Oh god no…no..stop…please DON’T HURT HIM!!”

As the room echoed again with his cry, Crowley jerked half upright with a shaking shuddering breath, panting but the words he was choking out mainly consisted of “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck.”

Judging Crowley more or less awake, Aziraphale gave him several moments to get his breath back before saying quietly “Are you alright?”

With a yelled “HOLY JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!!” he lurched sideways. Crowley had clearly forgotten he wasn’t alone in the bed, and would have toppled onto the floor. Instead he got tangled in the blankets long enough that Aziraphale managed to get an arm around the other mans heaving chest, using sheer power to pull him back to safety.

Instead of fighting him off as he expected, Crowley wrapped himself around Aziraphale, burying his face into the crook of Aziraphales neck, breathing in deeply, saying only “Angel” before he collapsed into exhausted heartrending sobs.

Murmuring “I’ve got you, I’m here, its okay, its ok, we’re safe, I’ve got you” over and over, rocking the sobbing man held in his arms _as he himself had been held only hours earlier._

Finding the hair tie, fingers nimbly removing it and untangling the long red hair, easing his fingers over the tight sub occipitals at the base of the skull, deep calming strokes over and over, working down the long column of cervical vertebrae, soothing the tense muscles there.

Eventually the storm of emotion subsided, Aziraphale felt Crowley beginning to relax under his touch, so he stopped talking, but kept up with the gentle massage, fingers moving ever slower until he felt Crowleys whole body settle into that heavy solidity that sleep brings.

Unwilling to disturb him further, he edged his way into a better alignment bit by bit, until he too slid over the edge into the dark that was waiting for him there.

*******************************************************  
  
Crowley woke the next morning with the familiar headache that followed one of his more unpleasant nightmares. He didn’t always remember details, but he always remembered how he felt, and last night he had been TERRIFIED.

_Faceless winged monsters had been chasing Aziraphale, tearing at his clothes and skin, shrieking with horrifying laughter as they licked his blood off their cruelly hooked talons…no matter how fast Crowley had run, he couldn’t save him…_

With a lurch he remembered “Aziraphale” but the warm body pressed against his back, an arm and leg hooked over him stopped him from moving any further, and the sleepy grumble bought him back to the present.

He remembered….

_….screaming, sitting up, having startled himself half awake…..as usual…_

_… a powerful arm pulling him into safe harbour…._

_….crying uncontrollably while a soft familiar voice spun a lifeline for his splintered sanity to latch on to…._

_…the soft soothing touch of fingers in his hair…._

Remembering they didn’t have anywhere to be that morning, he let the shreds of nightmare fade away, falling back into deep settled sleep.

When he woke a couple of hours later, alone in the bed, the faint strains of music told him Aziraphale was up. Really not wanting to face the discussion they were going to have, he wanted to stay in bed, but his bladder had other ideas.

He staggered, blinking at the too bright light of the lounge, and Aziraphale turned to greet him, but one look at Crowley stopped whatever he was going to say. Instead he shook out one of his painkillers, handed to the redhead with a glass of water saying only “Have a shower, there will be coffee waiting when you get out.”

************************************

There was indeed hot strong coffee waiting, Crowley whipped up omelettes for breakfast, then both men attended to various phone calls. Aziraphale had to be quite firm with the Dean’s secretary, who stonewalled him until Crowley grabbed the phone, growling “Obstruction of a police investigation love, your call…”

Crowley didn’t apologise at the dark looks Aziraphale sent him while he was placating the concerned Dean, who got even more distressed when the situation was explained. Aziraphale was given leave to be absent for as long as necessary.

He sent vague apologetic emails to Newt and Anathema, not feeling up to explaining the situation over the phone, opting for a bracing cup of team while Crowley paced energetically around his flat, seemingly talking in another language.

“Yeah, likely need a router, definitely a POE switch plus a UPS, fuckloads of cable, yeah make it black, non-standard so you will have to terminate it so bring all the right stuff. Actually, include the gear for a couple smaller setups as well, might hit the neighbours across the street. Yeah, include some outdoor IR cameras as well.”

He paused and listened for a while “Full environmental monitoring, those special stealth options that don’t look obvious, yeah look, whatever it costs, I’m good for it. Can you do the site assessment today?”

More quiet murmurings from the phone “Get them to call me on this number, there should be a park across the road free. Thanks mate, owe you big time.”

Dialling another number “Brian, what’s your schedule like today? Right, grab your laptop, get your nerd arse over here. You still in contact with your dark web mates? Yeah, good. Legal? Depends on your point of view. Text you the address. Yes I’m fucking paying you for this!”

Utterly bemused, it was like having his own private dramatic performance, Aziraphale sipped his tea, watching and listening as Crowley orchestrated a whole raft of mysterious things to begin occurring at the shop. Before he got a chance to ask, the phone rang again.

“Mike, hey, yeah okay, no not really but talk to me…” eyes sliding to Aziraphale, he wandered to the far end of the room, leaning on the frame of the sash window, looking out the window as he made lot of mmmm, hmmm noises.

He got quieter the longer he listened, his easy relaxed stance changing to tensed hunched shoulders until he finally said “Come round for dinner, can you pick up Avi too? Council of War plus I might have more info for you by then. Yeah, don’t ask. Round 6? See you then.”

A loud banging from downstairs announced the first of many visitors that day. Aziraphale watched, listened, made a lot of tea and tried to keep out of the way.

*******************************************************

By mid afternoon Crowley was exhausted but satisfied. Significant progress had been made in upgrading the bookshops pathetic WIFI to a decent signal, adding in the hardware to support a high tech security camera installation. Brian did clever things with firewalls and encryption protocols, while negotiating some quite illegal identity hacking services that would probe the background of a certain cousin of Crowley’s book professor.

A quick wander round the shops to gather up dinner ingredients reminded him it had been too long since he had been outside, and he immersed himself in the flow of humanity for a while. Short of locking Aziraphale away in a castle like some fairytale Rapunzel, he was doing everything he could to ensure his safety.

_Crowley had never felt like this before, this overwhelming need to protect, shelter and safeguard another person. He had always run away from that level of commitment, his fear of abandonment driving him to run first. He knew that Aziraphale would be steadfast, that his pledge, once given, was a true covenant._

_Family was something Crowley never thought he would have, never thought it was something he even wanted. But looking at a certain blond haired blue eyed angel, he wanted that comforting familiarity of a life lived beside someone he loved, finishing each others sentences, knowing what to order at their favourite restaurants, making memories, sharing the good times, the bad times and all the mundane everyday instances in between._

_He didn’t know what Aziraphale wanted, but waking up to the other man wrapped around him like an octopus gave him the impression that he was, at the very least, interested._

_Crowley had realized that Aziraphale would never make the first move, not overtly anyway. Maybe, when all the drama was over, he might get a chance to make his own play._

******************************************************  
Mike and Avi turned up after six pm, full of questions about the mess of technology and cables sprawled across the bookshop floor. Aziraphale poured wine, serving tiny blinis that Crowley had produced while fussing over dinner in the kitchen, exchanging banter with Mike.

Avi took the chance to check on how Aziraphales injuries were healing, tutting over the bruises he hadn’t seen the first time around, talking quietly in medical speak while the blond sipped gingerly on wine.

After a meal of poached chicken breasts, served on orzo with a tangy lemon herb dressing, steamed broccoli florets and the promise of something delicious for dessert, the four men quietly sipped beverages. Mike was in the recliner, Avi and Aziraphale on the sofa, with Crowley sprawled on a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace.

They talked late into the night, Mike sharing some insights he had discovered about Gabriel’s activities that the police were aware of, Crowley divulged some more information which was accepted with a tight smile from the detective.

Concerns were aired and discussed, ideas were bandied about, Crowley argued fiercely for some particular adjustments and inclusions, and finally, they were in agreement. A plan, such as it was, had been crafted.

Once the technology was installed, tested and then activated, Aziraphale was going to have to make some changes to his habits. His decision to retire might come sooner rather than later, but he needed to talk to Anathema about her research progress before deciding finally.

As Avi was leaving he said to Aziraphale “Please Dr Fell, join me for lunch tomorrow, my treat.”

Accepting graciously, they exchanged phone numbers, making plans to meet. Aziraphale noticed Avi and Crowley exchanging a significant look and a nod, making him feel oddly uncomfortable, as if they were talking about him.

Stumbling sleepily to bed due to the combination of wine and painkillers, Aziraphale remembered to leave the side light on for Crowley, before drifting off, worn out from the excitement of the day.

Too tired to shower, Crowley brushed his teeth, cast a weary eye over the waiting stack of dishes, made sure doors were securely locked, lights were out, phones were on charge before wandering into the bedroom, wondering where the hell his pyjamas were.

They waited, neatly folded on his pillow _a typically thoughtful gesture._

He didn’t bother to turn the light out while he stripped out of his clothes, sliding into the black satins cool embrace.

_Aziraphale dreamed of hair like fire and lean bodies of carved alabaster…_

_…of hands…_

_…mouths…_

****************************************************

Crowley woke, alone again but this time the flat was silent. It was after 10am so he hauled himself out of bed, like any technology addict, to find his phone before anything else.

Aziraphale had sent him a text **Crowley dearest, hope you had a lovely sleep. I’m having lunch with Avi and gone out for a few errands.**

Telling his pounding heart to calm the fuck down, Crowley decided now was a good a time as any to wash his hair, so he loaded Three Days Grace on his playlist, cranked the speakers loud and wallowed in hot water until he felt vaguely human.

Wrapping a towel around his hair, singing along to Pain, he wriggled into his favourite jeans, settled in to giving his hair a good towelling. It soaked up so much water but got fluffy if he left it to dry wrapped on his head.

He had just slid on a heavyweight wine red shirt when he heard a mans voice calling out in the shop, and it wasn’t Aziraphale.

Instantly alert, he stalked across the bedroom, pausing for a moment in the doorway to see two strangers standing rather uncertainly in the middle of the room. Stopping the music with one touch to his phone he snarled “Who the FUCK are you, nevermind, I’m calling the fucking police!”

As he held the phone up to his ear the dark-haired woman said in an American accent “We have a key!”

********************************************************

Newt was nervous about turning up without warning, but Anathema was adamant. When they had heard that Dr Fell would be away due to Unexpected Personal Circumstances, she knew it had something to do with those awful emails from his cousin.

When Newt confessed he had a key to the bookshop as part of his job, Anathema had got tickets to the early train to London, literally dragging Newt on to the train (after making sure he had all the emails printed out).

Reluctantly she agreed to stopping for coffee and breakfast, refusing to be talked out of her plan to visit unannounced. They got lost a few times in Soho, until Newt found a couple of landmarks he remembered. 

The key still worked although the pounding rock music coming from the flat above startled both of them. Dr Fell’s music tended to run heavy on the classical and jazz. It was a running joke at Oxford that he didn’t listen to anything that was younger than he was.

No sign of the familiar head of blond hair downstairs, so they headed up to the flat, Newt calling out in vain over the now very loud music. Dr Fell didn’t seem to be present, which confused both of them, uncertainly they dithered.

Unexpectedly the music stopped, followed by the sound an absolutely irate male voice snarling “Who the FUCK are you, nevermind, I’m calling the fucking police!”

Anathema turned to see the most stunningly gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on, clad in tight black jeans, a lean muscled chest revealed by the open black shirt, long russet coloured hair damply tangling around a face Bernini would have wept to have sculpted. 

He damn near vibrated with fury, and her brain responded to the threat of an apex predator with an instinctive response, stepping back, hands spread defensively, saying the first thing that came to mind to stop him “We have a key!”


	20. Angry Half Naked RedHeaded Men!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****************************************************  
> Newt and Anathema meet Crowley - who does call the police in the end....
> 
> *****************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *********************************************************
> 
> Delicious Readers! So many delightful comments on my last chapter, welcome to new readers who are just joining our Ineffable Idiots! Its always special to hear that you found my story!
> 
> A series of vignettes to fill in a few story gaps, one last chapter to round out this particular scene and then onwards into Here Be Dragons territory!
> 
> ****************************************************************

Newt had a complicated relationship with excitement. He often thought he wanted it, but when he encountered it, it often turned out to be not what he had anticipated at all. Working for Dr Fell gave him a steady calm environment, however Anathema had bought new levels of excitement to his life.  
  
Before this escalated any further Newt stepped forward, placing one hand on Anathemas arm, interrupting a likely inflammatory response “WAIT! We’re from Oxford, I’m Newt, Dr Fell’s assistant, and this is Anathema, his research student.”

The angry half-dressed man paused, phone clenched in one hand, fixed his oddly coloured eyes on Newt and grated “Prove it.”

Breathing a silent sigh of relief Newt queried “How?”

Shrugging the man noticed his unbuttoned shirt, but appeared to consider it unworthy of dealing with as he smiled slowly in a way that made tiny hairs on the back of Newt’s neck stand up “Tell me something about him. Something that only a person who knew him very well would know.”

Newt and Anathema looked at each other and she nodded, Newt said quickly “He adores sushi and crepes, thinks tartan is stylish. He used to be a nurse and is very kind. Also, I have emails from him you can read.”

Anathema chimed in slowly “He sounds like he’s having sex when he’s eating, and his cousin Gabriel is an arsehole.” 

Oddly the red headed man blushed a bit at that, but visibly relaxed, sliding his phone into a pocket, buttoning the middle of his shirt closed absentmindedly. _Bingo_ she thought _gotcha._

“Okay, shit sorry. Came on a bit strong maybe, but yeah, don’t turn up without calling first.” He ran a hand distractedly through his hair for a moment before holding his hand out “Key.”

It wasn’t a question, and Newt silently handed it over, receiving a tight smile in return.

That unnerving gaze latched onto the two of them “So, why *are* you here?”

Flustered, Newt fished around in his satchel for the emails, but before he handed them over Anathema said archly “And who exactly are you?”

“Crowley” was the very short response. He held a hand out for the papers “Give.”

Newt gave and they waited while Crowley quickly scanned the contents, swearing creatively under his breath but he looked at them and smiled a complex mix of joyous deviltry “Oh you fucking idiot, Gabriel I’m so going to enjoy handing your ass to you on a platter.”

Warily Newt asked “Is Dr Fell alright?” and Crowley sighed and waved them to take a seat.

He checked the time, saw it was nearly lunchtime “You had lunch? Alright, pull up a pew. There’s a dozen kinds of tea and cold stuff in the fridge, help yourself.”

As Crowley pulled together pasta for three out of the contents of the fridge, he gave a summary of what had happened over the weekend.

As they tucked into a creamy penne carbonara Anathema commented “Dr Fell never saw any of those emails. Newt handles all his university email, filters it, only sending the necessary stuff to Dr F.”

Newt picked up the story “We met Gabriel, he turned up last year unexpectedly. He was rude, and I’m pretty sure he made Dr F cry. We decided not to upset him by sending him those.”

Crowley looked a bit unhappy at that and Anathema quickly cut in “We did tell the Dean, a few weeks ago. But….”

“So you have access to his account, passwords and stuff?” Crowley enquired.

Newt and Anathema laughed “Well, he’s a bit hopeless with technology, so we sort it out for him” she explained “I had to buy him a cellphone!”

Crowley cleared away their plates with a smile “Yeah, doesn’t even have a TV, bloody luddite.”

_As Crowley rinsed dishes Anathema whispered in Newt’s ear “You’ve been here before?” he nodded “Where does that doorway go? The one in the corner?” The one Crowley had appeared like an avenging angel from._

_The reply was soft “I think its Dr F’s bedroom.”_

_Well then._

********************************************

Shortly afterwards the shop was invaded by a lot of men in jeans and black tshirts with various logos on the front, doing complicated things with cables and technology. Crowley introduced Newt to a tall dark haired man named Brian, and they quickly began to speak geek to each other. Anathema got quickly bored, unwilling to touch any of Dr F’s books without him there, found herself at a bit of a loose end.

With a reminder to Newt to NOT TOUCH ANYTHING she wandered upstairs. Crowley had asked them to stay until Aziraphale got back from lunch. She could pull out her laptop and do some work, but was too distracted by the events of the morning.

Crowley offered a much more interesting investigative opportunity but he was on the phone when she walked into the flat.  
  
“Yeah, they’ll be here waiting for you. No hurry, been fed and watered and Newt and Brian are now best mates. What? No, he hasn’t touched anything. Alright, see you soon Angel.”

The fond affection in his voice and the endearment made her look hard at the man who had so fiercely protected Dr F.

“I know who you are” she said abruptly as the pieces dropped into place, memories from the dinner discussions several months ago. “You’re the guy!”

He smirked at her “I am indeed, the guy.”

“No, you’re the Tea Guy” she flapped her hands in frustration “From a few months ago. He left his favourite scarf wrapped around you or something. You’re HIM!”

The only reply was an infuriating insouciant shrug.

She narrowed her eyes at him “And now you’re what, sleeping with him? Living here? Whats your deal?”

He twitched then slowly grinned at her _what she didn’t know and so on…._ “What is it with Aziraphale and protective women?”

That startled an honest response out of her “Someone has to, he’s incapable of looking after himself when his godawful family are involved.”

Thoughtfully the redhead appraised her for a moment, deadly serious as he replied “Yes he is, and that’s *my deal*. You’ll understand when you see him.” That cryptic response was all he was prepared to offer and the heavy tread of booted feet on the stairs had him calling out.  
  
“In here Mike.” Anathema turned to see a tall burly man, either armed services or police, not in uniform (she was a bit confused about how the UK handled their police force), eyes that quickly assessed her with a flicker of interest.

Crowley, lounging diagonally across the sofa waved a languid hand _dramatic bitch she thought_ “DCI Mike Hutchinson, meet Anathema….?”

“Device” she supplied, offering a hand to shake “Pleased to meet you Detective.”

Crowley laid himself even more precariously across the sofa “Show him the emails and answer his questions. Make it snappy cos Angel will be home soon.”

The detective shrugged and growled “You heard the man.”

She started talking.

***************************************************

The detective had many questions, so they went downstairs and pulled Newt aside. Mike scribbled notes as they both waited a bit anxiously. Finally he said “Can you come down to the station to give formal statements?”

Uncertain they looked at each other but a familiar voice called out a bit indistinctly “Anathema and Newt! Lovely to see you, but why are you here?”

They turned to see their beloved professor and both gasped to see his eye ringed with a crimsonblue bruise that was fading to green around the edges, his lip still swollen and bruised as he winced, trying not to smile.

Instead he held his arms out, embracing both of them in a gentle hug. Crowley had given strict instructions they weren’t to say anything about the emails so instead Anathema replied “We were worried about you Dr F. Plus I think I have figured out why my research data is all over the place.”

_Distract distract distract, keep him talking, keep it mundane and boring and everyday._

Dr F nodded to the detective “Well if you are finished here we can go upstairs and chat?”

Mike rumbled “I really only need him” nodding to Newt who paled “She’s all yours.”

Leaving Newt to his fate, she followed Dr F upstairs. Crowley was frowning at his phone when they walked in but he smiled _it lit him up like an angel in a Renaissance painting_ “Good lunch angel?”

“Delightful dearest, I take it you’ve met Ana?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t knock either” and they exchanged a look she didn’t quite understand, before Crowley said “Gotta take care of something downstairs. Back soon.”

*********************************************************************

Avi was waiting for him in the backroom of the shop, keeping out of the way of the guys running cable lengths across the floor, speaking in fluent technobabble to each other.

“Well?” he asked the doctor and gestured for him to take a seat on the slightly manky sofa, it was covered in yet another tartan rug. Dropping into the creaky but comfy chair opposite, Crowley waited.

“You were right, there is a lot of deep emotional trauma that has not been well addressed.” Avi spoke quietly “Surprisingly he is quite self-aware about his issues, but oddly reluctant about addressing them. However, I don’t think he is likely to have any more response to the latest event.”

Avi shrugged “He counts it as one of many such incidents, which is a problem all by itself but not something I could do anything about over lunch. I’m an orthopaedic surgeon Crowley, not a psychiatrist.”

“Yeah I know, but ….” He shrugged, Avi had some idea of his own background and nodded “Yes, he would benefit a great deal from some sensitive therapy. But what you are doing Crowley? That’s helping him a lot. More than either of you realise.”

Uncertainly Crowley said “I’m not doing anything much, just sorting the stuff that needs to be sorted.”

With a small smile the doctor rose “I’m not talking about that, although it is good, what you are doing to help. Its your friendship, your presence in his life. He needs it, and I think you do too.”

Dark brown intelligent eyes gazed at him for a moment “You two are good for each other” another slight smile “Or, you will be.”

“Thanks Avi, my shout next time?”

“I hear the Ritz is delightful this time of year…”

****************************************************

Anathema knew that Dr F would fuss and deflect, offer her endless cups of tea and spend hours talking about nothing if she let him. She followed him into the flat, letting him start talking and held up a hand to interrupt him.

“Aziraphale” he stopped abruptly at her use of his first name, he had given her leave to use it but she stuck to the more familiar Dr F.

Stepping closer to him, she asked silent permission to tilt his chin up so she could assess his injuries closer

“That looks painful. Are you alright?” She had shaded several layers of questioning into that, and he nodded in answer to all of them.

“Mostly dear girl, and Crowley is taking the very best care of me. It will be alright, no need to worry.”

_Every need in the world by the look of his face, and the presence of what appeared to be Crowleys on call Detective…._

“He’s the Tea Guy, isn’t he?”

The blush that generated was answer enough “He returned my scarf, later, and well, we became friends.”

She was dying of curiosity to ask more, but aware that now was not the time or place, nor was it really any of her business. Dr F would probably tell her later, if she asked but the important thing was that he had someone looking out for him.

Instead she said softly “I’m glad he’s here then, but you’ll call? If you need us?”

Soft blue eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled at her “Of course I will, but tell me, what is this problem with your research?”

They sat and she fished her notepad out of her purse “I think the problem with finding a consistent baseline is that all the test samples are so different. If I had access to a supply of different materials that had been stored in the same conditions it would help?”

He tapped a finger on his knee “Sourcing that many samples for destructive testing is a problem, what have you come up with?”

_By the time Newt came back, not quite as traumatised as expected, much useful discussion on the potential progress of her research had happened. Fortunately, the research was far enough along, that the occasional remote check in and conference call would be enough supervision._

_She was distressed to hear he was seriously considering retiring, but given the circumstances, it made sense. He promised to make sure Newt was taken care of employment wise, he was a good assistant and would easily find a new role._

_****************************************_

They stayed for dinner, Crowley magically producing delicious food out of the tiny kitchen, she watched with interest how they interacted with each other.

While they were relaxed and comfortable together, trading banter and laughing, she sensed an underlying tension between the two men. Clearly they were attracted to each other but the little tells of a couple were missing. No casual touches, no public kisses. Lots of eye fucking and pining when they thought no one else was looking _god it was adorable and oddly hot_.

Crowley organised for a ride to the train station on the late train to Oxford for them, Anathema stopped him on the way across the bookstore.

“Thankyou. For looking after him. Its bad, isn’t it.”

Something complicated moved in the depths of those ambergold eyes, but he granted her the respect of a serious reply “It’s not good. He’s been alone a long time. That family of parasites have no idea what the hell is going to hit them. Not once I’m done with them.”

“They made him think he was worthless, its criminal, who would do that? Why?” she asked in outrage, still angry at what few details they had been told.

“Bastards, the lot of them” Crowley grinned with feral delight “Rich entitled bastards with more money than sense. That’s how we’ll catch’em.”

Somehow she trusted this tall gorgeous man, he obviously cared a great deal about Dr F, she hoped whatever it was between them, that it would have the opportunity to be everything it *could* be.

“I hope you’re right. Thanks for organising the ride. And not calling the police for before.”

“Yeah, call next time.”

She smirked at him on the way out the door “If I’d known all it took to get Dr F to keep his phone charged was sending him photos of gorgeous men, I’d have done it myself.”

Before he could ask how the HELL she had seen those she waved cheekily “Rides here, ta ta!”

****************************************

_Later he turned off the automatic cloud storage option for the photos and changed certain passwords on Aziraphales phone under the premise of setting up Spotify for him._

_He received a text from an unknown number the next day_ **Spoilsport**

_Saving the number under BookGirl he replied_ **Think about what you haven’t seen yet….**

**BookGirl: ewww**

**BookGirl: oh god newt would die of embarrassment**

**BookGirl: so yeah good call**

**BookGirl: and ewwww again**

**AJC: depends on your pov**

**AJC: : - P**

**BookGirl: brain bleach!**


	21. Epiphanies and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has an epiphany about how he feels about Crowley, and Crowley expresses how he feels FINALLY
> 
> This chapter earns its Explicit rating - there is a lot of important character and story development here, you can skip the spicy bits if you need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************************************  
> First of all THANKS TO redundant_angel, Cousin Serena and Gay Demonic Disaster on the Throat Spackling 101 Discord server for beta and smut feedback services!! You ROCK!!
> 
> Sorry this has taken so long but I was stressing a bit about the smut in this, I wanted it to be good - feedback appreciated. Can't believe its taken 21 chapters to get THIS far LOL
> 
> ************************************************************

It wasn’t until Aziraphale found himself nodding off in the recliner that he realised how late it was and how much they had drunk that evening. Having Anathema and Newt stay for dinner had bought a cheerful energy, so Crowley had opened up some wine for the first time since The Incident (as they had taken to calling it.)

A faint snore from the sofa stirred Aziraphale awake. Feeling groggy and tipsy made for an interesting combination. Splashing cold water on his face and neck and brushing his teeth helped to clear his head.

Aziraphale gently covered Crowley with the throws and turned out all the lights except for one dim lamp (in case Crowley woke up in the middle of the night). Perching lightly on the edge of the sofa, he stared down at the sleeping man, gently drawing back strands of firebright hair and revealing the sharp-edged profile.

With everything that had been going on, Aziraphale felt ashamed to have only now realised that Crowley had given up not just his whole weekend but three days of his working week as well. He had gotten so used to Crowley just _being there_ , taking care of things that Aziraphale had no idea about, it was easy to forget they lived separate lives.

In fact, the thought of Crowley leaving made something deep inside him ache, as if Crowley was the missing puzzle piece he needed to feel... whole.

A flicker of images and memories cascaded into his consciousness. Crowley’s face, his laugh, how his scent permeated the cotton sheets they slept in, the ability to produce a veritable feast in a tiny kitchen, his wide circle of friends, his capacity to care so deeply for others (no matter how hard he would deny it).

 _“I can’t lose him.”_ Even the thought of it made Aziraphale panic. He didn’t understand why, so he stared at Crowley’s sleeping face, as though trying to unlock the mysteries held within.

He stroked a finger in a caress softer than a butterfly wing down the stubble of Crowley’s cheek, and Crowley smiled, murmuring something that could have been “Angel” in his sleep. Aziraphale’s heart stuttered for a moment, leaving him breathless.

_He knew what this feeling was. What it had to be…_

_He was in love with Crowley._

_Oh._

_*************************************************_

Bodies were inconvenient things when they woke you at fuckoff o’clock to go to the loo, but as Crowley groaned and stretched, at least he could crawl into the sinfully comfortable bed for the rest of the night.

Blearily finding his way in the dark, more asleep than awake, he stripped down to his designer underwear and slid between the soft sheets to snuggle up to his angel’s warmth.

***************************************************  
Aziraphale was vaguely aware at some point in the night that the furnace which was Crowley had climbed into the other side of the bed. Extricating himself from the redhead’s octopus embrace while answering the predawn call of nature did have the added benefit of being wrapped back up in it when he went back to bed.

As he lay there, listening to the sounds of the city waking up, Aziraphale realised he felt much better. The bruise around his eye was beginning to fade; its ache greatly reduced. The cut on his lip was healing cleanly, with minimal swelling. He almost felt up to having some real food and was pondering his options when a sleepy mumble distracted him.

Crowley had moved to the far side of the bed, as he tended to when he overheated, and was lying facing away from Aziraphale, hair spread in messy tangles over his shoulders and pillow. For some reason, he wasn’t wearing any pyjamas and his bare shoulders were fully visible to Aziraphale’s fascinated gaze.

Rolling over, pulling the blankets down to reveal more of Crowley’s back, Aziraphale marvelled at the elaborate tattoo that curled its way sinuously across the pale and slightly freckled skin. It was a snake, black with a red belly, curving over one hip then up around his shoulder, looping across and down with the tail disappearing somewhere further down his body. The head of the snake was on the middle of his back, its mouth wide open with fangs buried deep into a bright red apple and one golden eye split with a vertical pupil looking out with an interesting combination of wisdom and disdain.

It was spectacular, not only for the astonishing craftmanship, but for the sheer size of the piece. It must have taken weeks or even months of work. What had possessed Crowley to inflict so much pain on himself even as the art remained? It obviously had vast significance for him to have chosen it, but Aziraphale was at a loss as to what it might be.

When a protesting “Mmmm ticklish, angel” emerged from the pillow, Aziraphale realised he had been stroking his fingers along Crowley’s back, following the lines of the snake, lifting sleeptangled hair out of the way.

“Oh sorry.” 

Aziraphale snatched his hand back, but the shoulder in front of him shrugged, and the pillow said indistinctly, “S’alright, should be appreciated, just press a bit harder.” The pillow paused. “Don’t get bloody ideas though.”

Up to that point, Aziraphale’s fascination with the art had stopped him from realising that Crowley was nearly naked in bed next to him, so he said a bit breathlessly, “Ideas?”

“Tickling. Hate it, kay?”

Carefully, Aziraphale reached out, pressing a bit harder and allowing his fingers to trail along the lines of the tattoo. “Alright?” he whispered.

“Mmmmm” the pillow replied sleepily.

Crowley obligingly rolled forward so that he was nearly face down in the bed, which allowed a delighted Aziraphale to fully appreciate the intricate details left by a skilled hand.

Eventually the pillow muttered in complaint, “Cold, angel.”

Aziraphale softly apologised while pulling the blankets back up. He snuggled himself across Crowley’s rangy shoulders and back, enjoying the sleepy companionship as he felt Crowley’s breathing slow and deepen.

Eyes closed, drifting on a general feeling of contentment, Aziraphale’s halfhard cock twitched in silent demand and he rolled his hips forward seeking friction, moaning a little as he found it, his cock pressing in the firm curve of the taut arse underneath him with slow deliberation.

When the man underneath him shifted and grumbled, Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open in horror, realising he was using Crowley as a non-consensual fucktoy. Flustered he moved away, babbling something about “oh time to get up, things to do…” and making for the safety of the lounge at an undignified pace.

Aziraphale moaned quietly as he closed his eyes, palming his fully hard cock. What he **wanted** to do was go back to the bedroom, strip off and wake Crowley up the best way he knew how. What he did instead was swear repeatedly at himself for being such a _goddamned coward_ while turning on the taps in the shower. A self-pitying morning wank instead!

_**Crowley waited until he heard the now familiar hiss and clank of the old copper pipes herald Aziraphale’s retreat to the bathroom. Apparently, his fake return to sleep had fooled the blond, who had sadly not taken the opportunity to wake them both up in a far more enjoyable way. The weight of Aziraphale grinding into Crowley’s arse had him unintentionally groaning as his own aching cock had been pressed with delicious friction into the mattress.** _

**_The touch of Aziraphale’s careful fingers across his skin, the soft puffs of breath sending tingles down his spine, his protective response now drowned out by the desperate need to feel skin on skin, to give and take of each other’s bodies until they were both breathlessly satisfied._ **

**_It was bound to happen, the two of them sleeping in the same bed. At least he had hard evidence (he grinned at the pun) that Aziraphale *was* interested._ **

**_Figuring he had time, Crowley pushed the blankets down, guessing there might be lube on Aziraphale’s side of the bed. He wiggled his tight black underwear down, closed his eyes, pushing up into the first firm stroke of his now slick hand with a breathy moan._ **

With his head bowed under the steaming rain of water, Aziraphale clenched his eyes shut, panting as he cupped his balls gently. Normally he liked to take his time, savouring a long slow build up to his release. Instead, he was tormented by the memory of the graceful lines of Crowley’s back and how Crowley’s spine curved down into that firm delicious arse with two divots sitting just above the line of his sinfully tight underwear, ready for him to dip his tongue into before heading further south.

Bracing one hand against the wall, he gasped as he stroked harder, faster than usual, the exotic sandalwood and leather scent of Crowley lighting up his brain… _oh yes…like that…harder…._ there was something about the feeling of the other man underneath him, pliant and responsive...   
  
It made Aziraphale crave things he hadn’t wanted before, the desire to take control, to give pleasure (rather than only receiving)… _to touch and taste, to feel the other man tremble under his caress, hear him beg for more all the while rendering him incapable of speech…_

The thought of Crowley under him made him shiver with anticipation, that long lean body yielding beneath his..

**_..oh god yes….push me down into the mattress…fuck yes…let me feel your body on mine…touch me with those soft hands… Crowley groaned, working himself with slow hard strokes, playing out the scenario in his mind. How Aziraphale would deftly lead with quiet suggestions, yet all the while getting exactly the outcome he wanted.  
  
How good it would feel to just be held, to safely let go and trust his angel, merely existing in the moment, where Aziraphale needed nothing from him other than what he asked…_ **

**_It wasn’t enough. He rolled over, burying his face in Aziraphale’s pillow, breathing in the smell of his hair, grinding down into the mattress, fucking his fist with slow steady rolls of his hips…._ **

Legs trembling, biting his lip, head thrown back, feeling that familiar tightening start to build, hips rocking as his hand worked _. Harder….faster…. imagining sliding his cock between those pale freckled arse cheeks, teasing them both, making Crowley buck and moan underneath him…hearing his breath hitch as Aziraphale licked the sweat off his skin…pulse fluttering at his throat as he arched up, gasping for more…_

**_Crowley’s other hand snaked down behind him, one finger teasing his tight entrance….hips beginning to stutter as his balls tightened…as he began the inevitable spiral…groaning as he ground down onto his finger….god yes…fuck….don’t stop…ahhh…Let me feel the weight of you upon me, holding me down while fucking me with slow steady strokes….making me beg you to go harder…faster.._ **

Panting, breathless in the hot steam, Aziraphale leaned his forehead on the cool tile, hips rocking up into every furious stroke of his hand….. _feels so good….ahhh…you take me so well….so good….god….yes…he imagined holding those slender wrists pinned to the bed with one hand…pressing kisses along Crowleys neck and collarbone…sucking bruising kisses…. Feeling those long legs locking him in place as the pleasure builds between them…_

**_Shaking, straining under the tension building in his body, Crowley writhed into the mattress….HARDER…fuck me harder….god yes..YES….FUCK…..YESSSSS……_ **

Chest heaving Aziraphale gasped as he felt his body pass the point of no return…. _oh so good….ahh…oh…oh…OH GOD…_

Gutteral groans were drawn out of both throats as they came hard in wrenching spasms, working themselves until all they could do was bask, panting in the afterglow.

_Well. That was a thing…_

**********************************************************

_Aziraphale scrubbed the shower briskly before getting out. Crowley stripped the bed, bundling the sheets into the machine on a hot wash_. _Neither of them commented about it to the other._

Hoping the blush he could feel on his cheeks could be attributed to his long shower, Aziraphale pottered in the tiny kitchen making tea. When Crowley emerged from the bathroom, one towel slung around narrow hips, another wrapped turban style around his hair, Aziraphale merely said,

“Coffee will be ready soon.” Which received a grunt in reply as Crowley disappeared into the bedroom. Aziraphale had invested in a large French Press, learning how to use it in self-defence as Crowley was sullen without his morning caffeine fix.

While the redhead worshipped his mug of coffee, Aziraphale chattered lightly about the plans for the day. All the security camera equipment was going to be finally installed today. He was nervous about it, which tended to make him prattle on. Crowley shouldered him out of the kitchen, saying only “Pancakes for breakfast, angel?”

Taking the hint, Aziraphale occupied himself with making the bed with fresh sheets. He also needed to sort out the spare room as Warlock was coming to stay for a couple of nights while Crowley returned to work and his Mayfair flat.

They settled easily into a morning routine, both aware it was the last morning they would spend like this, it sat unspoken between them.

**************************************************

_Crowley felt almost hyperaware of Aziraphale’s presence, his body should have been satisfied, but instead he sensed ….something…in the way the blond looked at him had changed._

While Aziraphale did dishes and tidied up the kitchen, Crowley fired up his laptop, frowning at the amount of emails waiting for him to address. As his fingers flew across the keyboard, he lost himself dealing with business responsibilities, until a hand waved in front of his face.

“Quite the intent focus you have, dear boy. I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes.”

“No rest for the wicked, angel, we’ve covered that already” but he softened it with a grin “What’s up?”

“Did you need me here, for the things you are doing?” Aziraphale’s hands fretted at each other “I need to visit my solicitor and business manager and run a few errands. Probably be out most of the day I’m afraid.”

Crowley stood up with a stretch and a yawn “No drama, angel. Going to annoy the neighbours with a cherry picker for a couple of hours while we do the install.” He snapped his fingers “That reminds me, who else have you given keys to?”

Aziraphale bit his lip and looked away, his classic ‘don’t want to talk about it’ face and Crowley sighed, running a hand through still damp hair “I’m getting a locksmith in too, changing all the locks, and no spare keys!”

“It’s a Heritage building Crowley, you need permission to do that.”

“Bugger that, angel, you got assaulted in your own home. They can sod right off.” 

_Aziraphale had to admit he did indeed have a valid point._

_****************************************************_  
  
Crowley let the tech guys have free rein doing the work, internally the network was setup and secured, cable and cameras installed downstairs inside the shop. Now they just needed to do the outside cameras, hook it all up and test it.

He considered one of the fancy face recognition door security systems, then scaled it down to an old fashioned intercom. Aziraphale wouldn’t freak out too much at that, it saved him having to go to answer the door, plus it had a camera so he could check each visitor.

The original door locks were so old, an actual locksmith had to be called out to assess the situation, head back to his shop for more tools, intrigued by the challenge of integrating the main shop doors into the greater security system.

So long as Crowley kept the crew supplied with sufficient pizza, the work was done amongst cheerful insults and hilarity as they manoeuvered the cherry picker around without damaging anything or anyone.

By the time Aziraphale returned everything was running, what tests they could run had been successful. Monitoring apps were installed on Crowley’s phone, he would load them on Aziraphale’s as well.

Logan had agreed to cameras being installed on his premises as well, so they had outside visibility from different angles. Crowley wouldn’t be happy until Gabriel was taken care of, but he was satisfied that as much as possible had been done to protect the shop and its precious contents. Which included a certain angelic book professor.

**************************************************  
  
One look at his client’s face had Aziraphale’s solicitor exclaiming in alarm, and the story Aziraphale had to tell didn’t diminish that at all. Tea and cakes were called for, and if a little brandy got added, well then, a wink was as good as a nod.

Shadwell sipped at his tea thoughtfully, as Aziraphale’s business manager for three decades, he was well acquainted with the distaff relations and thought nothing good of them. _Was about time something was done_ in his opinion.

“Can we serve them Trespass notices to all the properties?” he queried of Oliver, Aziraphale’s clever solicitor who literally rubbed his hands together in delight “We can throw the book at them” his soft welsh vowels heavy with satisfaction “I’ll make a list for you, Dr Fell. Cause and effect, consequences and so forth.”

Dr Fell smiled with a small wince “Excellent work as always Oliver. I should like to discuss it with Crowley first before any final decisions are made.”

Shadwell had heard this Crowley mentioned several times, made a mental note to enquire further about this mystery man. Perhaps Dr Fell had found himself a knight in shining armour (as it sounded from the professors rather rambling explanations) but Shadwell would form his own opinion.

He interrupted “What about your books, laddie?”

“My books? The ones in the bookshop?”

“Aye laddie, but the special ones. The ones that are worth something?”

Aziraphale pondered for a moment, they were all worth something, but yes, some were rarer and more valuable than others “What did you have in mind Shadwell?”

“Talk to the insurance people. They’ll need to know about the risk anyway. Probably want you to put those in storage. Somewhere secure.”

_He didn’t want to have to deal with insurance claims for irreplaceable one of a kind books, any more than he wanted to do it for irreplaceable employers like Dr Fell._

“Sterling idea Shadwell, very sensible.”

Aziraphale treated them both out to lunch, as thanks for their having to deal with such an unpleasant situation. After he left Shadwell leaned towards Oliver “What do you know about this Crowley bloke then?”

Oliver smiled at him toothily “Not as much as I’m about to, laddie.”

****************************************************

Crowley stood in the quiet serenity of the bookshop, finally alone, surveying the work he had supervised for the past three days. Infrared and wideangle stealth security cameras were tucked into various corners. Environmental monitoring sensors were attached to the ceiling in various places, outdoor cameras were mounted on the exterior, and all the doors were now locked with the heaviest grade industrial locks that would fit.

Everything was set to load in realtime to cloud backup, with alerts programmed to his and eventually Aziraphale’s phone. Logan’s system was linked but segregated, and if need be, an AI could be harnessed for face recognition. Crowley knew people, who knew people. A little charm and a lot of money smoothed almost any path if he wanted it to.

The trap was set, it remained to see if Gabriel could be provoked into taking the bait. The risk was in how long that might take, and what he might choose to do.

Shaking off the dark shivery feeling that rippled down his spine, Crowley headed upstairs to prepare dinner for his last evening at the flat.

***********************************************************

His specialty lasagne in the oven, making the place smell amazing (it would feed the two of them this evening and potentially Aziraphale and Warlock for another couple of nights), Crowley stood in the doorway of the spare room and sighed.

“Really?”

Aziraphale blushed and stammered _and that would never get old…_ “You know how I am about books.”

Looking with resignation at every flat surface (including the bed) covered in piles of books, Crowley shrugged of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves “Bloody hoarder is what you are, alright, let’s get started.”

Between the two of them, the treacherous dimly lit back stairs and Aziraphale’s annoying habit of stopping to read everything, it took nearly an hour to move all the books, dust and tidy the room, and put clean sheets on the bed.

Crowley kicked off his boots, slid his sunglasses onto the floor out of the way, collapsing dramatically on the sofa “Have to feed you *and* be a bloody packhorse! What’s in it for me I wonder?”

Aziraphale threw a exasperated look at the redhead “Oh, the pleasure of my company isn’t enough?” He rummaged in a cupboard for a few minutes, before walking over to the sofa, presenting Crowley with a small brandy snifter containing rich amber liquid.

One eyebrow curved in enquiry “Is that what I think it is?”

Aziraphale nodded “I was saving it for a special occasion. Seemed appropriate.”

Closing his eyes to inhale and savour the bouquet, Crowley mmmm’d in appreciation before taking a sip “Ohhhh that’s good.” After a few reverent tastes of the Calvados, Crowley murmured “Yeah, this was almost worth the sore back I’m going to have tomorrow.”

The blond frowned at him “Almost?”

Crowley replied with a smirk “Well, I bloody paid for it, didn’t I?” but the timer pinging on his phone put paid to any reply as he heaved himself up off the sofa.

“Pour us some red, will you angel? I’m about to delight your tastebuds!”

Dinner was enjoyed, the leftovers served up and put in the fridge, dishes done. Warlock had opted to catch a movie so would be arriving later, so Crowley took the time to enjoy some more Calvados and setup the security apps on Aziraphale’s phone.

_He made a mental note to go over it with Warlock tomorrow as well, he might have a bit more patience for explaining things to a Professor who seemed determined NOT to understand it._

Eventually the evening had to end, he packed his clothes and other belongings while Aziraphale fussed and fretted in case he left something important behind.

The atmosphere was heavy with tension, all the unsaid words and feelings that they were both highly aware of even as they remained unspoken. Aziraphale stood in front of the wooden door out of the flat, obviously wanting to say something so Crowley put his bag down

“What is it angel?” he asked gently _resisting the urge to take that one small step that remained between them, to press himself against the other man, touch him, taste him…_

Letting out a frustrated huff Aziraphale replied “I don’t know how to thank you Crowley, you’ve been so good to me, taking care of” he waved his hands vaguely “everything, cooking for me, looking after things.”

“You’ve been so kind, thoughtful and its so much more than I deserve. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

 _Crowley knew if he let him, Aziraphale would be apologising for his own existence soon, and right now he had had ENOUGH!  
  
_ “Angel” he said with quiet intensity “Aziraphale!” with more intensity when the other man looked to keep talking.

Hesitantly the blond said “Yes?”

Crowley stepped forward, gently taking both Aziraphale’s lapels in hand, so that they were standing almost nose to nose. He pushed slightly so that the blond stepped back, hitting his back against the wooden door and Crowley stepped forward with him, pressing against him from thigh to chest.

“Do you trust me?” he asked quietly and Aziraphale nodded, eyes wide with curiosity and only slight alarm.

“Will you close your eyes and listen while I tell you something? Just listen?”

Blue eyes flickered down to his mouth and back again “Yes, of course.”

Letting go of the lapels, Crowley smoothed them down with gentle strokes of his hands “If you need me to stop, put your hand on my chest and say STOP. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

Sliding his glasses off and into a pocket, Crowley stepped forward until he was pressed full length against Aziraphales right side’, tucked his face into the curve of his neck, breathing in that complex aroma of cologne, whispering “Fuck you smell good, close your eyes. Just listen….”

At the quiet “Alright” he turned his head, and finally pressed his lips to the delicate skin behind Aziraphale’s ear, relishing the shiver that ran through the mans frame. He laid soft kisses down the line of his jaw, finishing up with a kiss to the corner of his mouth before saying,

“God, I want to kiss you so much” and the breathy moan he got in reply went straight to his cock, hard and demanding friction _yeah you and me both, mate._

Gently he undid the ridiculous bow tie and enough shirt buttons to give him access to more skin, murmuring as he did “Angel, there is *nothing* good about the things I want to do to you, with you and for you. I know you aren’t ready for this yet, but I need you to know….”

Spreading the shirt open, he dove in with hot wet kisses that tasted the salt off the other man’s skin, nibbling his way along the collar bone, licking into that luscious divot above the collarbone, before sucking a tiny kissbruise into that pale neck.

At Aziraphale faint whimper of complaint, he kissed the red mark lightly “I want you, Angel, want to taste you, touch you, everywhere. You’ll talk yourself out of believing me, so I’m leaving you that as evidence. Alright?”

Chest heaving as he panted breathlessly under Crowley’s attentions, eyes still closed, head tilted back against the wall, giving the redhead free rein to put his mouth wherever he wanted, Aziraphale said only “Prove it.”

Biting his own lip with a groan, shamelessly grinding his painfully hard cock against the other mans hip, Crowley growled out “Fuck angel, you could have had me this morning! Don’t have time now, Warlock will be here soon.”

A flash of inspiration hit and he grabbed the other mans hand and gently guided it to his cock, imprisoned in its black denim prison, but clearly evident as he said “Feel that? When you are ready Aziraphale, that’s all for you.”   
  
He gasped as clever capable fingers stroked him skilfully with a firm grasp, he let it linger, indulging them both for a memorable moment, before lifting the hand away “Fuck, I’m half in love with you already. I’ll wait for you, but please, tell me you want me. That I have something to hope for?”

Blue eyes opened, dark with desire, hazy and out of focus and they stared at each other for a long moment before Aziraphale replied softly “Yes. Yes to everything.”

One hand rising to cradle the blond curls, Crowley licked a hot stripe slowly up Aziraphale’s neck, smiling at the soft moans the other man made before whispering hotly in his ear “Don’t take too long, love.” He shifted his body so they were both pressed hard against each other, hips rocking forward, nothing but wordless gasps and sighs coming from them both.

The loud BUZZ from the intercom right beside the door startled them and Crowley pressed one last kiss to Aziraphale’s neck before stepping back, shrugging on his long leather jacket.

Obviously flustered, shirt open even wider, showing several red marks, face flushed, Aziraphale looked like he had been ravished, Crowley suspected he wasn’t any better off, but slid his glasses back on, grateful for the jacket masking the evidence of his aching arousal.

“I’ll distract Warlock for a bit, give you time to tidy yourself angel.”

Blinking as he came back to reality, Aziraphale took in his rumpled appearance, and blushed. Stepping aside to open the door he said quietly “I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough this morning. Thankyou, for understanding. And for waiting.”

“Anything you want, angel, all you have to do is ask. Anytime.”

They shared a glance full of even more unspoken feelings, this time layered with the possibilities of what more they could be. The intercom buzzer sounded again, with a sigh Crowley carefully tackled the stairs, letting Warlock in and using the excuse of explaining the new security to delay long enough for Aziraphale to compose himself.


	22. Curry and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock visits, staying longer than anticipated, and conclusions may well be drawn. Aziraphale and Avi have lunch and a particularly challenging conversation.
> 
> A short and sweet update to tide you over while I work on the next big chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******************************************************************
> 
> DELICIOUS READERS! I met a few of you in FB recently which was delightful. So I want to assure you that this fic WILL BE FINISHED!!
> 
> I absolutely promise it. I know exactly what happens, its all plotted out. But I write and post, and I take my time editing to give you the best quality work I'm capable of. I'm also having some issues with my medication which is affecting my sleep, so my energy for writing (as well as working a full time job) hasn't been the greatest.
> 
> So it may take a bit longer between updates! But I promise they will happen. So please be patient with me, while I try and maintain the quality of this story.
> 
> I know everyone says comments give them life, but I have to be honest - waking up in the morning and seeing notifications from AO3 with comments do make me start the day with a smile, and inspire me to KEEP WRITING!
> 
> ********************************************************************

Warlock was pleased to see Dr F looking better than anticipated (Crowley had sent a photo to Tracy). Nearly a week after The Incident the bruising was much reduced, Dr F almost giddy with the anticipation of eating real food.

Having eaten Crowley’s cooking on many an occasion, Warlock didn’t think he had been too hard done by, all things considered. Still, he understood the professors rather ….odd… relationship with food was complicated.

Crawling into the spare bed, pleading tiredness after a long day, but also giving himself the chance to acclimate himself with a new living space. Having moved so much as a child, Warlock had a process around settling into a new space. Falling asleep to the sound of distant traffic, and the gentle creaking of the wooden building around him, was easier than he expected.

************************************************  
  
Enjoying the luxury of a sleep-in on a work day, Warlock lay in the dimly lit room, nose wrinkling at the slightly musty smell. As he scrolled through social media on his phone, he wondered idly how Crowley’s notoriously sensitive sense of smell had coped.

His brain stuttered. Smell was a key element in feeling at home in a space. Try as he might (hauling nosefuls of air in) he couldn’t pick up any hint of Crowley’s rather exotic cologne in the room at all. It tended to linger as a faint undertone, a little like incense did.

Warlock spent some time subtly investigating the flat during the day, he picked up hints in the bathroom, definite sandalwood notes on the sofa.

_He didn’t know Dr F well enough to be sure if his habit of staring into space for long periods with a soppy smile on his face was normal._

_Enquiring of the team at the office reported Crowley in a better mood than usual, despite the unexpected schedule upheavals that would normally have him grumpy and short tempered._

Warlock smiled and kept his suspicions to himself.

For now.

*********************************************************

Of all the bruises Aziraphale currently sported on his body, the small dark marks near his collarbone were his favourite. Crowley was right, he *had* needed the visible proof the next day. Aware he was walking around with a silly smile on his face half the time, Aziraphale decided he, quite frankly, didn’t care the slightest.

_For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt something resembling happiness. His heart felt….lighter….he knew it was likely a fleeting thing, until Crowley tired of him. But for now, he allowed himself to simply enjoy it._

Not even the rather serious adjustor from the insurance company dented his mood. They had sent a specialist in antiques who was very concerned about the potential risks implied by Aziraphale’s story.

The extremely hi-tech surveillance system did much to calm the adjustor’s fears, but he agreed with Shadwell. They would draw up a list of the most expensive and rare books to be taken into long term storage from their inventory list, despite Aziraphale’s protestations he could be trusted to choose the books himself.

Warlock could see how distressed Dr F was that his precious books would be removed from his hoard, so quietly spoke to the adjustor to email the list to him. They would spend the weekend carefully packing the books into crates that would be delivered the following day.

As the adjustor was leaving he commented “I’ll include a couple of extra crates for any personal items you wish stored as well. Just in case.”

**************************************************  
  
Warlock had only planned to stay the Thursday and Friday, but seeing Dr F so reluctant to part with his books, he decided to stay and help ie do most of it himself. In the end they compromised, Dr F rounded up all the books, and Warlock packed them into the crates.

While he was at it, he found some photo albums and other family documents and put them into one of the crates marked Personal. Eventually the adjustor’s list was completed, plus several other books that Dr F cherished personally.

_It wasn’t a lot, in the scale of everything in the bookshop, but it was better than nothing. While its better to be safe than sorry, the reason for it was still concerning._

When the van pulled up across the road on Monday morning, Warlock was waiting to let the drivers in, making sure to sight identification, check the documentation before signing it and releasing the precious books into their hands. Dr F stayed upstairs, soothing his nerves with endless cups of tea, and the occasional cocoa for Warlock.

“It’s done” he said, closing the door to the flat behind him “You can relax now.”

Blue eyes glanced pointedly at him as Dr F replied snippily “I won’t be able to relax until those books return here where they belong.”

A little tired of the petulant attitude, Warlock unthinkingly snapped back “Yeah, I guess that the worst that could happen is this place might burn down, and they *would* survive it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt himself blush in embarrassment _what a terrible thing to say!_

There was a weighted silence, then Dr F sighed “I’ve been fussing like a mother hen, haven’t I. Apologies dear boy, you’ve been nothing but patient while I’ve simply dithered about.” He smiled wryly “Don’t worry, Anathema yells at me about it a lot. It is, as the English would say ‘a fair cop’.”

“You know someone called Anathema?” Warlock couldn’t decide if he was horrified or fascinated, and his face must have given it away, as Dr F laughed.

“You and I are not the only ones with memorable names. Anathema is my research student, also American.”

“Wow” breathed Warlock “That’s…. a name.”

“Apparently it’s a family tradition. She prefers Ana for obvious reasons. Delightful girl. You should come to Oxford and meet her.”

“When are you going back?”

Dr F stared off into the distance with a sad look on his face for a moment “I’ve decided to retire this year, but I still need to go back and tidy up loose ends, so to speak. Probably take a couple of months. Plenty of space for you to come visit.” He did the adorably cute squinch of his eyes “I can get you into the very best libraries….”

Warlock laughed “I can resist anything except temptation!”

Clapping his hands in delight “I didn’t know you had read Oscar Wilde, but well played indeed.” He glanced at the time “Oh you will need to get going if you want to miss the lunch rush for the trains.”

Tugging on his jacket and shouldering his backpack, Warlock paused before stepping forward and giving Dr F a one-armed hug “Call me if you want me to come back?”

“Dear boy, you are always welcome. Thank you for sorting out the books, I owe you dinner somewhere nice. Bring Adam.”

“Even up to Oxford?”

Dr F grinned rather naughtily at him “I’m sure a weekend away from distractions would do you both the world of good, so to speak.”

Rather surprisingly, Warlock found himself blushing as he left the shop.

************************************************************

Avi was startled by the new intercom system, the shop fairly bristling with security cameras and black cables running like a modern nervous system around the walls and ceilings. Crowley had said he would take care of things, evidently, he had. Avi approved.

The late February wind was chilly, he huddled into his heavy winter coat and scarf while Aziraphale no doubt trekked his way across the store to let him in. Avi idly watched the to-ings and fro-ings of the Soho populace braving the cold winter day, noting the barber shop across the street.

Aziraphale’s cultured tones behind him caught his attention “Avi! Oooh that wind is bitter. How do you feel about curry?” Locking up the shop, looping his own tartan scarf a little tighter, Aziraphale smiled at him hopefully.

“How are your stitches? All healed up?” and Aziraphale obligingly pulled his lower lip open a bit so Avi peered in “Hmmm looks alright, and curry is soft. Lead the way!”

They chattered about food, books and medicine on the walk. Avi had a deep love for works from the Elizabethan period, so they had plenty of common ground and relaxed into easy conversation which carried on throughout lunch.

Eventually they sat, sipping wine and picking at the scraps of naan without any real intention to eat them. Avi sensed a certain tension in his lunch companion and pondered the best way to draw it out of Aziraphale, when he unexpectedly spoke first.

“So, what was your diagnosis? The last time we had lunch?”

Sitting back in his chair, Avi took a long slow sip of his wine “You noticed?”

Smiling tightly at him Aziraphale replied “Of course I did, I was trained to ask the same kinds of questions to victims of crime or trauma. You were very good by the way. It took me a while to notice.”

“Alright Dr Fell, what do you expect my diagnosis to be then?”

Saluting the surgeon with his wine glass wryly, Aziraphale thought for a few moments “Quite aware he has issues, reluctant to do anything about it. A lot of repressed childhood grief and trauma. Probable issues around religious background and homosexuality.” He shrugged “Certainly enough to keep any therapist busy for years.”

“That certainly hits the most obvious points. I do have one specific question, if you are curious?”

Looking at the level of wine in his glass, Aziraphale waved one of the waitstaff over and ordered another round. He waited until it was served before arching an eyebrow at Avi in enquiry and nodded.

“Admittedly I know very little of your history and experiences, but what I do know leads me to one question. Why do you struggle so much with exerting agency over your own situation?” He paused “I suspect part of it has been trying to avoid conflict, but why do you value other people’s peace of mind over your own? Aren’t you entitled to be happy, content and satisfied? As much as any of us can be?”

Swirling his own half full glass, Avi continued “Quite seriously, what is the WORST thing that could happen if you stood your ground and said ‘I want this to happen’ or ‘Do it my way’?”

_Aziraphale let out the breath he was unconsciously holding. How was it that an orthopaedic surgeon had more insight into his psyche than several actual therapists? How did this man see into the heart of what he himself struggled with reconciling? How was he expected to answer this?_

“That’s a very….complicated question…” he said hesitantly.

Avi smiled “I think it’s a simple question with a very complicated answer, but I have a follow up question. You asked me for my diagnosis. Why?”

_Fragments of memories flicker across his mind …… Crowley laughing delightedly at a terrible pun, his intense concentration while cooking, how good he smelled, the warmth of his body in the bed at night, his gentle and steadfast support, the feel of those long fingers tangled in Aziraphale’s curls while that mouth he had dreamed about pressed hot wicked kisses into Aziraphale’s parched skin….._

_Gabriel’s angry flushed face screaming obscenities at him, hands reaching to cruelly grasp or worse…as he always had from when they were children._

_Realising that he was an adult with choices, but more importantly, people who cared enough about him to want to help. That he didn’t have to do it alone…._

Carefully Aziraphale shaped the words of his reply “Gabriel showed me who he really was, which made me realise that I had let him treat me like that. Crowley …… well he showed me a different way to see myself…..but….”

“But you need help to be able to see yourself the way Crowley sees you?” Avi spoke gently and Aziraphale smiled a little sadly at him.

“Admitting you need help is probably the most difficult step, Aziraphale but you will need to work hard to make progress. Really invest yourself in the process. Are you ready to do that?”

“If I can find someone who I can trust to work with me, equally as invested, then yes. I think I’m ready.”

Digging out his phone, Avi frowned at the screen as he flicked through his contacts “Well as it happens, I know someone who is renown for their alternative approaches. I can set you up for an initial consultation but I have to warn you of something.”

He glanced at Aziraphales face and laughed “Oh nothing like that, whatever that face is. No, they are also Crowley’s therapist. So probably not appropriate for you as well, but they will be able to recommend the less mainstream therapists out there. The ones who care about their patients, rather than their billing hours.”

“Will you mention my…relationship…with Crowley?” _There, he said it out loud! Does that make it real?_

Dark brown eyes twinkled at him “I doubt I need to, how many other Aziraphale’s in London are there?”

_Aziraphale digested the implications of that while Avi made his phone call, setting an appointment up for the Friday afternoon. He decided to consider it a ….good thing._


	23. Self Care and Feeding the Ducks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes a BIG step forward in self care, helped out by the not so subtle presence of a friend.
> 
> Ducks are fed and swans are avoided!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ************************************************
> 
> Hello lovely and delicious readers - yesterday the subscribe count on this fic hit 200!!! I'm astonished and amazed that so many people are enjoying my random word salad of a story. I don't know why you like it but Im very glad you do :)
> 
> Note that this chapter is mental health related, but in a positive way. The side effects Aziraphale experience are drawn from my personal reactions to going on Sertraline last year. Ironically they prescribe it for depression but it appears to have a really positive effect for anxiety sufferers as well so YAY!
> 
> For all the Avi fans out there, this is another chapter with him, being Aziraphales emotional support ....friend!
> 
> ****************************************************

Friday morning arrived with glacial slowness, or so it felt to Aziraphale, who had managed to work himself into quite the anxiety ridden mess. While he understood this was a necessary step, the years of self doubt and second guessing himself was a hard habit to break.

When the intercom buzzer sounded mid-morning, he was surprised. No visitors were expected, and his was not the kind of premises that obviously welcomed casual callers. Remembering Crowley’s instructions he checked the small camera screen, puzzled to see Avi looking up at the camera with his familiar wry smile.

His confused expression must have been evident when he unlocked and opened the door, as Avi greeted him with a clap on the shoulder “Shalom, my friend. Get your coat, I’m taking you out for lunch.”

“Lunch?….but…?” stammered Aziraphale.

Spying a camel wool coat and tartan scarf hanging on the coat stand near the workbench, Avi collected them both, wrapping the scarf around Aziraphale’s neck, holding the coat out for his arms, buttoning the front.

“I wanted to make sure you ate something today. And that you made it to your appointment…on time.”

“Oh….thats very….thoughtful…of you, Avi.” He patted his pockets “Let me just grab my things and we can be off.” Armed with phone, keys and wallet, they ventured out into the mild morning sun.

*****************************************************  
  
Avi had chosen a Greek restaurant, not far from the office building that was Aziraphale’s destination, and not one he had eaten at before. Wanting something light, he went with the chicken avgolemono soup, saganaki and finishing with some baklava. Licking the sticky honey and pastry flakes off his fingers, realising he did indeed, feel better with some food inside him.

Picking at the remains of his gyro, Avi nodded slightly “Worries go down better with soup than without.” He quoted the traditional proverb lightly to which Aziraphale replied “There can be no joy without food and drink.”

“Ah you are too well read for me! I cry unfair advantage!” Dark brown eyes sparkled in delight at Aziraphale’s riposte.

“Quoting ancient Jewish proverbs? At least you were kind enough to use English, my Hebrew is very rusty.”

“Having lived in England since I was a child, mine is not much better, my dear Professor.” He checked the time, pushed his chair back and stood “Shall we?”

Strolling through London during a lunchtime on a Friday was an entertaining experience. So many sharply dressed suits, interspersed with easily identifiable university students wearing eclectic fashion choices. It was a different scene to Soho, especially for someone used to Oxfords rather stuffy atmosphere. He felt like he fit in there.

Thankful for Avi’s guidance, they made their way to an elegant older building, nestled a little way back from the street, with a small garden enclosed with a black wrought iron fence. The lobby had slightly worn comfortable looking chairs, rather than the usual corporate style, several lush houseplants and a fish tank bubbling in one corner. It felt quiet and peaceful, Aziraphale relaxed enough to take a couple of deep breaths, closing his eyes in an attempt to center himself.

A steady hand in the small of his back steered in into the lift, rubbing in slow circles as Avi said quietly “Just breathe, my friend, in and out, slow deep breaths.”

By the time the lift slowly ascended to the 5th floor, Aziraphale braced himself, stepping out of the lift, waiting while Avi introduced him to the statuesque Louisa, chatting lightly for a moment before turning to the waiting man “Don’t think about the process, my friend. Think about the prize at the end. Hmmm?”

Aziraphale nodded hesitantly, Avi gathered him into a gentle hug “I’ll pop round tomorrow and we will have cake, my treat.”

Softly Aziraphale said “Thankyou Avi.”

Deep brown eyes looked deeply into stormy blue ones “The best thanks you can give me is to commit to this, yes?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Avi stepped back, and eyed Aziraphale with amusement “And if I had not turned up, would you still be, I wonder?” He paused and smiled “But that is discussion for another day, Shalom my friend. Go well.”

“Go well Avi.”

Not deigning to wait for the lift, Avi clattered off down the fire stairs leaving Aziraphale to wait with twitching nervousness for his appointment. He was early, which didn’t help, and he hadn’t thought to bring a book with him.

A quiet hiss of frustration snagged his attention, he turned to see Louisa struggling to pin up her hair. It was difficult enough to pin a chignon tidily, more so without a mirror or dropping hairpins all over the floor. Cautiously Aziraphale asked “May I be of assistance?”

Louisa looked at him in comical despair “Honey child, you surely cannot do any worse than this!”

Shedding his coat and scarf on the nearest chair, Aziraphale ventured around the reception desk to find Louisa waiting with a comb, a diamonté hair clip, handful of hair pins and a hopeful smile. “Turn around my dear, and we will have you sorted in a jiffy.”

Realising it was a wig, he took it gently, taking a few goes to get the tension right, before managing a neat twist, that he secured firmly with the hair clip, tucking in any potential loose strands with firmly placed hair pins. Eventually satisfied, he stepped back “There you go my dear, all done. Should last the rest of the day.”

Delicately patting at her tightly secured updo, Louisa arched an enquiring eyebrow to which Aziraphale replied “I had….sisters. They liked to play dress up.” He shrugged “I learned a few useful skills.”

Louisa stood and beamed at him from her substantial height “Haven’t lost your touch, and I feel like a princess. Looks like Bee is ready for now.” She nodded to the open door where a slight figure dressed in an eclectic ensemble of rather interesting clothes.

“Dr Fell, please come in. My name is Bee and I am delighted to meet you.”

Swallowing around a lump, Aziraphale took possibly the hardest step forward he had ever made. This required him to keep taking another and another until he crossed the threshold of their office and the door closed with a quiet click behind him.

“Oh, I’ve left my coat in the waiting room.” He turned to get it but Bee replied “Louisa will keep it safe, please, take a seat.”

******************************************  
  
Bee got her client settled, going over the patient privacy forms, full of boxes to be ticked and pages to be signed. Blond brows frowned as he read at lightning speed, yet they had total confidence every word had been read. Despite his obvious nervousness, he exuded a feeling of calm competence, a certain sturdiness of spirit, if one was feeling whimsical.

Before they got started Bee sat back and assessed her client for a long moment “I should advise you that no matter how today goes, I won’t be accepting you as a patient. This is an assessment to see which of my colleagues will be the best fit for you.”

He digested that for a while but subtly began to relax just a bit “May I ask why?”

_Ahhhhh good, he has a spine after all_ “You may, and I shall answer. I do not treat people who are in a relationship with my current clients.” They shrugged “Its vitally important that boundaries are maintained and respected, and this is part of how I achieve that.”

They rose, asking “But first, perhaps some tea? You look like a man who might appreciate a good Assam?”

A brief smile emerged “In lieu of a brandy, it will have to do. Thankyou.”

Tea was made and served, they sat breathing in the rich fumes of the hot beverage. Bee said quietly “There is no judgement here, this is a safe space for you to speak. I will have questions, to help clarify my understanding. Whatever is said here is a ….. a sacred covenant…if you will?”

Hesitantly, with many long pauses, Aziraphale began to speak. Bee settled in, forewarned by Avi, they had set aside the rest of the afternoon for this session if need be.

******************************************

_He talked until his mouth went dry, cried tears of grief and anger, showed Bee the photos of the damage Gabriel had done to him. Wrung out from an excess of emotion, he let them guide him with deft questions. It was hard enough dredging up the memories of his past, even harder to unburden himself from the years of pent up fear, and oh he was afraid of so many things…._

_It felt…like a gift…to be allowed to speak his truth in a safe space, he knew Crowley trusted this person with his own secrets, so Aziraphale did as he had promised Avi, and committed to this session. He opened the walls he had spent all his life building and reinforcing, instead made gates to let some of his darkest secrets spill out into the light._

_He remembered them being terrifyingly large, full of teeth, claws, too many legs and black like and empty well shaft. So, it was almost a disappointment to see small scrawny …things…. creeping haltingly out into the light, he wondered, had he changed over time or had they?_

_*****************************************************  
  
_ When Aziraphale eventually ran out of words, Bee had pages of notes and was feeling more than a little wrung out themself. Directing him to the facilities to refresh himself, Bee asked Louisa to bring in the post assessment snacks Bee liked to provide, that happened to contain a selection of pastries and sweets. It was served with sports drinks for them both, as Bee insisted on hydration and electrolytes to counter the emotion hangover many people often experienced.

The two of them ate in comfortable silence, Bee waiting until Aziraphale looked steadier and had some colour in his cheeks. They noted with amusement that it took several helpings of pastries to achieve this outcome and thanked Avi mentally for the advice about his sweet tooth.

Looking at his remaining sports drink with a grimace, he chugged the rest of it down, placed the empty bottle on the table, sat back and folded his hands in his lap. Bee waited, picking at the half eaten pain au chocolat on their plate, watching those hands out of the corner of one eye. Sure enough, they started fretting with each other, likely unconscious behaviour. Working the gold ring on the right hand, fiddling with the ornate buttons on his waistcoat, Bee rose and rummaged in a cupboard next to their desk, asking “Pink, Blue or Purple?”

Confused Aziraphale replied “…..Blue?” and Bee said “Catch” and threw what turned out to be a small container full of blue playdough.

“What do I do with this?” he opened the lid and peered suspiciously at the contents.

“Gives your hands something to do when your anxiety kicks in. All that worrying takes energy and doesn’t produce any positive outcomes. If you have something tactile to work with, it can make you more aware of your habits. Also being creative is fun. Many people find it helps calm or distract them from whatever the brain is freaking out about.”

Extracting the blue goo from its container, Aziraphale rolled it between his fingers, testing out the texture. “I’ve heard of art therapy but never seen it used before.”

_Bee watched as he began to work the squishy stuff between his hands, feeling desperate sadness at seeing yet another adult who had lost the joy of play from their life. Art therapy was only one tool in the available arsenal of treatment options, but it was one they had seen the most value out of consistently._

_Adults let themselves relax so much more when given the opportunity for creative expression, the meteoric rise of colouring books for adults in the last decade was testament to people finding their own path to that form of self care._

Aziraphale squished and smooshed, seemingly enjoying the experience, but those piercing blue eyes glanced up while he said “This is entertaining, but I am more interested in hearing your initial diagnosis.”

They weren’t used to feeling measured in the way this man was assessing them, with knowledge and experience, but aware of the reasons for it, they answered with compassion. “What do you think my answer will be? Professional curiosity?”

_Bee noticed that his fingers stilled their anxious movements when he genuinely concentrated on answering their question._

“Unresolved parental grief, PTSD, depression, anxiety, issues with self worth and confrontational behaviours.” He paused and grinned at her “A veritable smorgasbord of delights awaiting just the right therapist.”

_Pleased to see he could still have a sense of humour, and more than a smattering of self awareness, they felt better about their choice of where to send him. He had a long road ahead to resolve many of his challenges, but if he did the work, there was a light at the end of the tunnel for him. Victor would be firm but patient, plus he had the religious background to unravel the fucked up mess the family had ingrained in an innocent child._

They grinned back at him “Alright, lets talk about medication. Let’s also talk about how it only works if you remember to TAKE IT EVERY DAY!”

**************************************************  
Shocked to discover he had taken several hours of the afternoon, Aziraphale paid his bill, gratefully accepting Louisa’s offer to call him a taxi. Even on a good day he preferred not to take the tube during busy periods, and he was definitely not up to it now.

Making a note on his phone to organise a thankyou gift for Bee and the kind Louisa, Aziraphale lost himself in musing about his experience in their office. The small plastic container filled with blue goo sat on his lap, with a referral to another psychiatrist (Bee was qualified but preferred the term ‘therapist’ as it had less stigma attached to it) and a script for some new medication.

_If he let himself think about it, the feeling he was trying to identify…..hope…was the nearest he could come to putting a name to it._

_Hope that he might have an option for a better future, not just for himself._

_But….maybe….possibly….with Crowley._

He got the taxi driver to drop him at the chemist, filled his prescription, listened to the pharmacists instructions about when to take them, got a takeaway curry on the way home. Reading the possible side effects, he opted not to indulge in the stiff whisky he had been craving.

Instead he slowly figured out how to set a reminder alarm on his phone at 10pm every evening that said “TAKE PILLS”, picking the most annoyingly shrill ring tone as it would jolt him out of any reading trance.

Wrung out from the emotional toll of the day, body dealing with the fallout of the endocrine overload, he opted for an early night. 

_No one need know that he took a rug off the sofa, one that still retained a hint of Crowley’s scent, snuggled up with his face buried in the soft fibres, breathing slow deep breaths until he fell asleep._

***********************************************  
  
For early March the day dawned fine and sunny, Avi was surprised when Aziraphale met him at the door with a small paper bag, saying “Hold this please” as he locked up the shop. 

“It’s such a nice day, I thought we might walk to the park and feed the ducks?”

_Ah the mystery paperbag contents!_

“St James Park? Certainly, my most learned professor. It will give us plenty of time to talk.”

Avi burst into laughter at the thoroughly filthy look Aziraphale gave him. _It wasn’t often enough he let his polite façade down and was real with people. This was a man who needed to let his Inner Bastard out to play more often, as Crowley would say._

They talked about the weather (it was Britain, always a safe subject as there was plenty of it to go around), ducks, books, cake but eventually there was a long pause in the conversation then Aziraphale glanced sideways at Avi,

“Talking to Bee yesterday…..thankyou. For making the appointment and making sure I turned up. It was… I want to say ‘cathartic’ but its not quite the right word.”

“Think of it as perhaps, a cleansing of the soul” but Aziraphale grimaced, replying “It feels more like a debridement instead. With sandpaper.”

Laughing Avi replied “My dear friend, you are not wrong. But the grit does get finer and eventually it begins to polish rather than scour.”

Aziraphale flicked him another of those highly dubious expressions, saying only as they walked up to the railings surrounding the pond “Watch out for the swans, they can be a bit aggressive in spring.”

“They can break a man’s arm with their wings, so I’ve been told.”

Aziraphale handed him the bag containing scraps of bread with a smirk “What else does a bone guy do on the weekends?”

Taking the bag with a huff, Avi replied “Charges three times his normal eye watering rate!”

******************************************************  
  
It took about three weeks for the initial side effects to his medication to make themselves known, and mostly begin to wear off. He was very dizzy and quite definitely in an altered state for the first week or so. The dry mouth fortunately stopped after a few days, for which he was grateful.

The good news was, he could feel it working, the heavy black cloud that normally lay over everything wasn’t gone, but it was a lot thinner and lighter than it had been. He found himself fretting less, and with the help of the blue goo was able to snap out of the cycle more often.

Meeting with Bee had shown him how deep into his psyche the black tendrils went, he knew that it would be a long hard road to prise many of them out, and the medication was only part of that. But the world felt…..lighter….that it had done in a long time.

_He knew the story of Pandora’s Box, and had his own perspective on hope being locked away, to be kept safe as if it were a treasure. When he really knew it was nothing but cruelty in many cases, to hope for something you couldn’t have…._

_Maybe……just maybe…..he could allow himself a little hope._


	24. Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets and Interludes from some of our supporting characters and Warlock and Crowley have an unexpected adventure involving photography

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***********************************************************
> 
> Most delicious of readers! Sorry work has been insane due to a big project due on Monday - so this chapter took longer to gestate than usual. I've even had to work over this weekend :(
> 
> It went in all kinds of interesting ways, but leads us into the next key sequence. Things are about to get....interesting!
> 
> A bit more love for the Warlock Fan Club too! 
> 
> ************************************************

LATE MARCH

Gabriel made a point of slamming the door of the car behind him as he strode away. Already angry that he was having to sell his swish London flat to generate money to pay the family bills, the rideshare driver had chattered mindlessly at him for the entire ride. His sister also kept messaging him, which he was steadfastly ignoring. He really wasn’t in the mood for more complaints right now.

Stewing over his situation, jaw jutted angrily as he ground his teeth in frustration at what he saw as entirely unfair circumstances he was surprised when the hotel concierge called him over.

“Excuse me Mr Fell, but the Manager would like to have a quiet word?”

_Fuck, had he maxed his credit card out ALREADY? Fuck Fuck Fuck!_

Nodding tightly, he pasted on his best ‘I have an audience’ smile “Of course, lead the way.” He was quietly ushered into an elegantly understated office, where a man Gabriel vaguely recognised stood and waved him to a chair. _Buggered if he could remember the guy’s name though, he was only staff._

He sat, crossed his legs and spread his arms aggressively, taking up space, looking quietly calm and confident, a man in control and at ease. He was expecting a conversation so was surprised when Bernard (the name plate on his desk) said “As an extended member of the Fell family, you have been granted access to holdings and facilities owned by Dr Fell and his estate. I have been advised by his lawyer that all such rights are now revoked, in perpetuity for yourself and your siblings. Your lawyer will have the full documentation, however I have been tasked with issuing you this.”

He handed the shocked and surprisingly speechless Gabriel a crisp envelope, that had his name printed across the front. Tearing it open, he pulled out a page that was headed with the words TRESPASS AND EVICTION NOTICE.

Underneath was a lot of legalese he didn’t understand or care about and while he grappled with understanding what was going on, Bernard placed a pair of familiar suitcases next to his chair.

“Your belongings have been packed, feel free to open them and check that everything is present and correct. I would appreciate it if you could do so immediately, so I may escort you off the premises, as per my instructions. We will email you your remaining bill.”

Bernard stood there waiting, with a look of patient professionalism on his face, while Gabriel gaped at him in dawning horror and anger. 

“You can’t just throw me out on the street, I’m a Fell! My family owns this place!”

Bernard looked at his watch briefly, replying only “Dr Fell is our legal owner, this is a private business, and he has the legal right to have you removed from the premises.”

Furious, Gabriel stood, fists tight, face flushed and twisted in anger as he took a step forward towards the other man, growling through clenched teeth but a knock at the door distracted him, and Bernard slipped away to open it.

The concierge and three other men stood there waiting patiently but even in his anger Gabriel noticed that their eyes were hard, and their faces were not friendly. Bernard turned to him, holding the door open saying coolly “Good day Mr Fell. Kindly do not darken our doorstep again, if you please.”

Knowing he was outnumbered Gabriel struggled to calm himself, snarling in his most offensive American accent “And if I do?”

Bernard turned to face him, smiled very slowly and his voice was silky with polite menace “Then we shall call the police and have you *forcibly* removed. These men will escort you to the street. Don’t forget your belongings.”

Unwilling to back down from a fight, Gabriel postured a bit more, but left, stomping heavily, muttering threats until he found himself in the service alley. They hadn’t even had the decency to let him leave via the front doors.

His phone rang this time, it was Michael’s ring tone and he stabbed at the green circle “What the FUCK DO YOU WANT?”

There was a startled pause then Michael's rounded vowels sounded “Oh so you’ve heard then?”

“I’ve fucking been evicted from the bloody hotel and served a Trespass notice!!”

“Gabriel, what did you do?”

“Why, what’s the soft little faggot done now?”

The pause that greeted that was even longer, and had a noticeable texture of annoyance from his sister “The lawyer called. We’ve been cut off. Completely. No more cheap hotel rates, no more holidays abroad, no private jet. No leveraging the Fell name for anything. Gabriel WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“We’ll fight it, we did last time and we won.” He was confident he could fix this.

“Did you sell your flat?” She enquired archly “For the price we agreed on?”

“Yeah, close to it.” Michael was much better with finance than he was, but he refused to acknowledge it, god forbid a woman could be better than a man at anything.

“Well if we are lucky, we won’t starve or freeze to death this year. Gabriel, we can’t afford to fight this, you KNOW that.”

“I’m standing in a stinking alley full of dog shit and piss right now, and I can’t even… fuck it! I’ll catch the train home. Pick me up?”

“Text me.”

“Thank you Sister dearest.”

She hung up on him. He stared at his phone in disbelief and wondered what the fuck had happened to his world.

*********************************************************************  
  
Avi settled in to the seat opposite Bee in the quiet corner of the Thai place they were fond of. It did a good Tom Yum soup, fragrant and flavoursome. He didn’t eat there that often, but the waiter clearly knew Bee’s favourites as they smiled and said “The usual please.”

They talked shop over the first course. Having met at a medical conference, two outsiders who didn’t quite fit the Harley Street dynamic, they had bonded over tea and then cocktails later, forging a friendship based on an appreciation for each others differences, and a shared disdain for British social norms.

Despite working in entirely unrelated fields, medicine was medicine, there was always some new concept or approach to discuss and analyse, occasionally some salacious gossip to share or a new policy to complain about.

Normally they never talked about patients but tonight it was a bit different. Bee’s most interesting appointment was Avi’s newest friend and he was hoping to get some deeper insights into his own thoughts on Aziraphale’s state of mind. From someone with experience in the field.

They sighed “You were right, he is a mess of trauma and anxiety. That family of his…” They shook their head and sighed again “It’s criminal what people get away with, but thirty odd years ago, well it was a different time.”

Toying with his napkin Avi asked “Is it too late for him? To get help and get better?”

They eyed him with wry resignation “You know I can’t divulge confidential patient information, even to another doctor.”

“But…..” Avi prompted

“But with the right help, and the right incentive, and the will to do the hard work, then yes I would expect him to see notable improvement over time. It won’t be easy.”

Avi smiled his sweetest most annoying smile, and they threw their napkin at him “Nothing worthwhile never is, we both know that.”

Bee bared their teeth at him in reply but their voice was soft “You’ll let me know how he is doing? Not just for his sake, but for Crowley’s too?”

He handed back their napkin, now folded in the shape of a crown “I’m taking you as my Plus One to the wedding.”

“Oh are you now? Maybe I will have my own Plus One to take?”

“I’m sure Louisa will have her own invite?”

They hissed at him with their rather peculiar laugh “Fine but I’m wearing black.”

“I suspect at this wedding, it will be entirely appropriate…..”

*********************************************************

AJC: Hey Angel

AJC: sorry been crazy busy with work

AJC: doing ok?

_A couple of hours later_

**_Angel: Crowley! How lovely to hear from you._ **

**_Angel: Sorry the reception in my office is dreadful, all those stone walls Newt tells me._ **

AJC: where are you?

**_Angel: Oh didn’t I tell you?_ **

**_Angel: My apologies, I have transferred back to Oxford._ **

AJC: sounds like its for a while?

**_Angel: Possibly a couple of months. Winding everything up so I can retire. So much to do!_ **

AJC: yeah I remember you saying that was the plan

AJC: thought we might see each other before you left though

_A long pause_

**_Angel: Yes it was rather rude of me to leave without saying goodbye._ **

**_Angel: I confess…..I’m a little uncertain._ **

AJC: about?

**_Angel: About how we….left things._ **

AJC: nothing needs to change Angel, not unless you want it to

AJC: told you I would wait for you, meant it

AJC: do I need to send you a reminder?

**_Angel: a reminder?_ **

AJC: oh how I feel about you….

**_Angel: Do people do that? Send those kinds of photos?_ **

AJC: consenting adults and all that…

**_Angel: But its not very romantic, is it?_ **

_Aziraphale was pretty sure he could hear Crowley’s eyes rolling even though they were two hours drive apart from each other_

AJC: Fine, I can do romance. Bet you I can have you back in London in half the time you planned!

**_Angel: Can you now? And what are the stakes, pray tell?_ **

AJC: you know what they are….

**_Angel: Quite. Well then, do your worst, dear boy_ ** **_😊_ **

AJC: oh I intend to…..

AJC one way or another

  
  
Aziraphale looked at his phone and swallowed. Hard.

********************************************

Crowley made a note on his phone to visit the florist the next day, to see what was in season. He only needed enough flowers to cover….certain parts of his anatomy, but the more he thought about it, the more the romantic approach began to appeal.  
  
The slow taunting reveal, a flash there, a glimpse there….Warlock might have some interesting ideas and was alright with a camera in his hand….  
  
*******************************************  
  
“You want me to WHAT???” Warlock stared at him aghast, as Crowley felt himself begin to blush and begin to explain again, the artist threw his hands up in the air “No! Don’t say anything, just…NO”

Wisely, Crowley bit his lip and waited while the younger man paced, muttering something that contained a rather incoherent mix of swear words, throwing dark looks at a now slightly embarrassed Crowley.

Eventually Warlock’s ranting faded, his pacing slowed down, and the looks he was casting Crowley were more thoughtful and considering. Recognising the look of someone hatching an idea, he remained silent. He respected an artist’s need to think their way through a concept without interruption, so fiddled on his phone to give him the space he needed.

“I know someone, a photographer who does work in the creative portrait space. She’s a bit edgy for most people but…” He eyed Crowley up and down in a manner that made him feel like he had been judged and found a little wanting “I think you might like her work, and she will love you.”

Throat suddenly dry he asked “Why will she love me?”

Warlock smiled his particularly saccharine sweet smile that meant he was up to nothing good “You’re all angles and sharp edges. Too fucking pretty for words doesn’t hurt either.” He shrugged “Probably need a whole day, so weekend?”’

Pondering the rather startling assessment Crowley said absentmindedly “Yeah, um…thanks.”

************************************************  
  
Hence a week later, rather earlier than he preferred on a Saturday morning, Crowley found himself standing in the starkly minimalist waiting room, where the walls were decorated with a range of erotic images.   
  
Nothing overtly sexual, but each image was a lush sensual exploration of flesh, light and shadow hugging curves, many almost abstract until you suddenly decode what it is you are seeing. Many featured leather, cuffs, collars, corsets, lace and ornate shibari rope patterns.

He turned to Warlock who was lounging on the sofa, and arched an eyebrow in edged enquiry. Warlock merely grinned at him, shrugging “There’s a market for it and Alex is very very good at what she does.” Crowley slid his glasses back down, wishing for another coffee, but Warlock had cautioned him against drinking too much.

The door in the far corner opened to reveal a tall willowy woman, clad in well worn jeans, a long sleeved black t-shirt, waist length hair that started out cobalt blue and faded to rich purple at the ends that she was halfway through tying up into a ponytail. Older than Crowley expected, possibly even into her 40s.

Hair messily pulled up, she stared long and hard at Crowley, before turning to Warlock with a wry smile “Hello gorgeous boy. You should bring me presents more often.” Murmuring “Hello darling” back, Warlock stepped into her open arms and they hugged, sharing a kiss before separating.

She slowly circled around Crowley, eyes assessing him clinically before stopping, offering her hand “Alex Kincaid, it’s a pleasure to meet the Dark Angel himself. I’m a fan of your work.”

They shook and Crowley responded “Just Crowley, please.”

“Alright, Warlock gave me an idea of what you were after, so get your shirt off please, so I can see what I’m working with.”

“Just my shirt?”

“For now.” _He saw Warlock smirk a little as he twitched at that response out of the corner of his eye as he unbuttoned the heavy watered silk shirt._

Sliding the shirt of his shoulders, he ostentatiously handed it to Alex and held his arms out and posed a little, standing there a little awkwardly as she walked around him again.

Flicking her gaze from head to toe, an avid look on her face, Alex glanced at Warlock “Holy fuck you weren’t kidding!” Warlock did the annoying smiling thing again but Alex turned to Crowley “I’ll shoot you for free for the day, in return I want exclusive rights to one image for advertising and marketing use.”

Uncertainly Crowley looked at Warlock who stepped up “We get veto over which image, and you will provide professional prints of all the final choices, professionally framed in at least 18 x 20 size.”

Swivelling that laser focus to Warlock, Alex countered “Not more than ten images to be framed, and I want Exclusive, Worldwide, Perpetual licencing. But you can have a copy for personal use, of course.”

Crowley began to realise what they were negotiating and interrupted “No whole face shots, nothing that’s obviously identifiably me.”

Alex’s eyes were a rich dark brown with copper accents, he noticed as they turned to focus on him again “Your ink is pretty identifiable.”

Sliding his glasses off, he smirked at her lazily “Not everyone is lucky enough to see me naked, certainly not on a first date anyway.”

She snorted saying not at all quietly “Lucky, hah” and handed him his shirt back. “OK I can work with that, deal?” Crowley looked at Warlock who nodded and replied “Deal.”

“Perfect, Crowley into the studio, Warlock darling, please kindly fuck off.” _Crowley relaxed more than a little at that, being potentially naked in front of one of the….children…was a bit offputting to say the least._

“Text me when you have the first cut proofs ready.” Warlock blew Alex ostentatious kisses and sauntered out the door.

********************************************************************  
  
Eight hours later, Crowley slumped on the comfortable sofa provided for customers, absolutely exhausted. He had been posed, made up, covered in honey, chocolate sauce, tied up, chained up, suspended. Lost count of the number of times he had showered, had his hair professionally blowdried and arranged, nails painted and he knew he was going to be sore tomorrow.

Who knew that being in front of a camera was such hard work, but Alex had worked twice as hard as he had, moving lighting gear around, lugging a heavy looking camera around like a lightweight. An army of assistants were on hand to primp and preen Crowley, give him sips of water and thankfully put his sunglasses on between takes.

The bright studio lights were painful, but Alex had realised he had issues and mitigated them as much as possible, switching from continuous to flash. Still he was looking forward to shovelling down a curry and a really hot shower.

He was half asleep when the smell of curry roused him to the sight of Warlock grinning at him, handing him the takeaway bag “You look like you have been ridden hard and put away wet.”

“Bloody feel like it too, thanks kiddo.” He sighed at the smell of green thai curry “How’d you know?”

Warlock sank down on the other end of the sofa, tucking into his own meal “Used to model for Alex when I was at Uni. Paid the bills.”

Crowley had his suspicions about what else had gone on, but it was none of his business so he dedicated himself to inhaling food as fast as possible without choking.

****************************************************************  
  
Alex flicked through her first cut of proofs, her insides clenched with that singular feeling you have when a shoot goes spectacularly well. Crowley was gorgeous, and surprisingly accommodating, actively engaging with her ideas, willing to use his body in extreme ways to get the shot, and surprisingly having the flexibility to do it.

Some would be artistic gritty black and white images but there was one particular one that she wanted to see on the big screen…..ahh…..

_An apple dangled at the top of the frame, red plump and delicious, dripping with clear liquid honey_

_Reaching up, mouth open to receive the nectar of the gods, half out of frame so only his mouth visible, sharply cut line of throat falling down to the chest, slightly tilted to camera, all of it glistening with drops and runs of honey._

_The way the light falls across the skin highlights all the hollows and divots of his neck, light rimming the outline of his body, its intensely erotic and sensual…_

And it was worth the horrendously sticky mess it had made of her studio because it was possibly the best image she had shot.

Quickly cropping it and running some presets over it to add the gritty industrial grunge styling she preferred, she added it as the final image to the proofs. Setting up the slideshow, she called her client in for his viewing.

_Crowley looked at the images in something resembling awe. It felt like Alex had uncovered a hidden part of his soul, revealing it to the world one abstract image at a time. He had asked for some more traditional poses that he thought Aziraphale would appreciate, but even those oozed a raw sexuality. It was an unexpected experience, to see yourself through the lens of someone else (literally in this instance)._

When the final image showed on screen even Warlock uttered a heartfelt “Fuck that’s amazing.” She turned to Crowley and said “Pass me your phone” Which she connected up and did complicated things on her computer for several minutes before handing it back “Some of the second best images, so you can send them to your boyfriend.”

Crowley had reluctantly explained his purpose for the images, which Alex had been delighted by, and they hadn’t negotiated these extra images, so he said simply “Thanks.”

She stood “It’s going to take me probably a week to edit these, I’ll email you a link to view the final ones so you can choose the prints.” Nodding at the screen where the honey dripped image of him lingered “That’s the one I want, if that’s alright with you?”

Crowley blinked sleepily at her “Show me the final proofs, and we’ll talk.”

******************************************************  
  
Aziraphale startled as his phone beeped in the “text from Crowley” tone he had specially programmed in (not that he got a lot of other texts).

AJC: thinking of you angel

AJC: [image attached]

Remembering how to click on the small image to load it full screen, he stared in astonishment at his phone screen.  
  
 _It was a close up of Crowley’s face, glasses tilted just far enough down his nose for him to slyly smile over, as he licked what looked like whipped cream off one finger tip._

Aziraphale felt as if a bolt of lightning flamed its way down his spine, lighting up a million nerve endings on the way.

“Holy Fuck!” he exclaimed, nearly losing the phone in his suddenly sweaty grip.

_Every day for a week, at 9pm sharp, a new image appeared, until Aziraphale sat with nervous anticipation of the next one. No response was demanded, each image sent with only the “thinking of you angel” message each time, and they kept coming. A different one every day._

_It was exquisite torture and Aziraphale was torn between admitting Crowley was right, and finishing up early, or lingering to enjoy the pleasures of the images._


	25. Ships Passing In The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale winds up things at Oxford, while an unexpected opportunity falls into Crowley's lap, taking him out of town for several weeks.
> 
> Also BONUS ART by Suvroc is now linked at the bottom of this - and its fabulous. Thankyou!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *************************************************************  
> Delicious readers! How delightful were your comments on my last chapter! The photography thing kinda got away on me but it sounds like my imagination is just as thirsty as yours LOL
> 
> Any artists out there are welcome to create your version of my ideas should you be so inclined.
> 
> For those interested, Crucial Conversations is a real book, and an incredibly powerful one. I highly recommend it for anyone who struggles with dealing with stressful or confrontational situations (so like, everyone).
> 
> To all the people I met on FB and all my subscribers - you are lovely and I appreciate you every day!
> 
> *************************************************************

_LATE APRIL_

Anathema sighed and stabbed at her lunch with a fork, pushing the food around and Aziraphale reached out, laying his hand over hers briefly  
  
“Pouting isn’t going to change anything my dear, and I have agreed to supervise you for the rest of the year.”

Dark eyes looked soulfully at him “But I’ll miss you Dr F. No one listens, not the way you do.”

“You mean, over an all expenses paid lunch at the finest dining establishment Oxford has to offer?”

“Well” she smiled a little “That’s a nice bonus, but….”

He dabbed with the napkin, laying it on the table, face serious “Life is unpredictable, dear girl. You never know quite what will happen next. The very best you can do is, how do they say it ‘roll with the punches’. The only constant is change, Ana dearest.”

“Will you visit?”

“Probably not for a while, dear girl. Need to give everyone time to get used to me not being here. But you are welcome to visit, I have a spare room at the shop. A weekend treat in the big city!”

“I’m going to miss you Dr F.”

He topped up her half empty glass with champagne “Anathema, my dearest girl, I shall miss you too. But we have email? You can call me any time.”

She snorted a laugh “Well, so long as we are in the right time zone!”

“Well, yes any *reasonable* time. Now, help me decide between the black forest gateaux or the cheesecake.”

“Oh just get both and we can share.”

“Capital idea!”

************************************************************  
  
Newt looked around at the tidily stacked and labelled boxes, all ready for collection by the courier driver. A special reservation for a whole van had been made to ferry everything back to the shop in London. Dr F’s office looked a lot bigger now it was almost empty.

He scrolled through his checklist of tasks on his phone, worrying that he had forgotten something when a quiet cough announced a familiar presence in the doorway.

Dr F smiled sadly as he looked around his office for the last time “All good things must come to an end. Newt dear boy, you have done a splendid job.”

Tired blue eyes looked around “I shall miss this place, but I shan’t miss the stairs. Or the dreadful tea in the staff room.”

Newt said quietly “This place won’t be the same without you.”

Dr F rummaged in his pockets for a moment, pulling out a folded envelope, handing it to Newt “I’ve arranged for you to stay on as a research assistant for Anathema and continue your work in the library for the rest of the year. This is your new contract.”

_Newt felt a rush of warmth flood through him, Dr F had been unfailingly kind and unfathomably generous to him, for no other reason than Anathema had asked for a favour. Dr F had been a delight to work for, Newt had been happy, he didn’t mind that he was absentminded and forgetful, it was impossible to find anyone who taught at Oxford who wasn’t a bit odd, one way or another._

_But hardly any of them were kind, thoughtful and considerate. Not in the way Dr F was, and Newt would miss that dreadfully. Being granted employment for another year, probably paid out of his own pocket, was yet another kindness. Ana adored him, and Newt had become equally as fond._

“Ana said you invited her to visit?” he queried.

“Oh no, dear boy, both of you, of course, plenty of room. Always welcome.”

 _Thinking of the half-naked redheaded demonically angry man they had met last time, Newt winced internally_ “Maybe in the holidays?”

Dr F took one last look around the office and nodded sharply “Righto, one last thing to take care of. Follow me will you Newt?”

They clattered down the twisty steep dark stairwells, three flights out to the spring sunshine. Blinking in the bright light, dazzled by sunflare on his glasses, Newt stopped and stared at the car Dr F was standing next too.

It was a brand new Mini, dark blue paint with white racing stripes, confusingly it was parked in his carpark. Dick Turpin was nowhere to be seen. He blinked at Dr F who smiled and jingled car keys at him “I thought it was time for an upgrade, and this is far more suitable to drive to London with.”

“Ummm….thanks?” _Nearly in tears at the open generosity from a man who asked nothing of anyone, Newt was rendered speechless._

“Care to take her for a spin? We could stop for lunch somewhere nice?”

_They did indeed stop somewhere very nice for lunch._

***************************************************

Crowley sighed with relief as he walked out of his solicitor’s office. Aziraphale’s move towards retirement made him think about his own exit strategy, but while passing a profitable business into another set of hands was possible, it involved many legal complexities.

Idly wondering if lawyers made up the rules to keep themselves employed, he checked his phone. His Angel was heading back to London this week, for good _the photos had worked their magic, it had taken 6 weeks for him to wind up everything in Oxford, and Crowley was manfully trying not to gloat._

They had caught up for lunch several times on Fridays, where Aziraphale had eventually confessed he was seeing a therapist. It was early days and Aziraphale was still very guarded and cautious, but he kept going back, and seemed quietly positive about the experience.

He did ask for space afterwards, to allow him time to process, which Crowley totally understood, saying only “If you need to talk Angel, call me, anytime. I know just what the 3am demons are like.”

They had eaten and talked while the elephant in the room got larger the more they _didn’t_ talk about it. Crowley respected that Aziraphale had a lot going on, plus he had promised to wait, but he caught himself staring lovestruck at his Angel more than once. He took to wearing his dark glasses more often around him, brushing it off as being tired.

Swinging into a top deck seat on the bus, he tapped his thumbs in an unconscious pattern on the bar in front of him _Angel’s coming home, Angel’s coming home, Angel’s coming home, Angel’s coming home_ when his phone buzzed with a message from Tracy “CHECK YOUR EMAIL!!!”

Curious, because she wasn’t the sort to go overboard on the ! he did, read it, took his glasses off, read it again, said “Bloody buggering bollocks!” (ignoring the frowning glances sent his way), called her back.

“I told you! Play hard to get and they only want you more!” She was fizzing with satisfaction.

“Yeah Hi Tracy, how was your day?” he was excited but wanted to yank on her chain a bit, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“It’s your dream job love, why aren’t you more excited?” _He was, he so was, it absolutely was his dream job but…. Angel’s coming home, Angel’s coming home…_

“They want me there on Monday…”

Her impatience was palpable “And?”

“Aziraphale’s coming back from Oxford this week.”

With that most of the energy changed from excitement to something softer “Ah love, of course he is, and now you have to go away.” She brightened “Why don’t you invite him to stay, there will be plenty of room.”

 _Fuck, she was right, but it would be too much, too fast for him…_ “We’re not….there… yet.”

“Crowley” Tracy adopted her ‘get your head out of your arse’ voice “If the two of you don’t manage to be in the same place for more than five minutes, how do you expect to get ‘there’?”

He couldn’t help laughing “Fair point. Need to check the place out first.”

“See that you do!”

***********************************************************

The familiar smell of old books and paper welcomed Aziraphale home. Newt had finally volunteered to drive him back to London, as Aziraphale had lingered in a long slow goodbye to the various staff and departments. Those blue eyes had twinkled at him in that familiar way “Just take it easy on the motorway, dear boy.”

Unwilling to admit he had been tearing his way around the countryside at every possible opportunity, testing the limits of his new wheels, Newt merely nodded “If we don’t leave now, it will be snail’s pace anyway Dr F.”

With that, he finally departed Oxford, riding into his unknown future, full of possibilities. Newt had plenty of questions about being a research assistant, so the journey passed in easy conversation. He zoomed away after dropping Aziraphale off, carrying his suitcases and a couple of extra boxes in, wanting to get back to Oxford before the M25 became a nightmare.

Tomorrow the van would arrive with the remaining boxes containing his books and office contents, and with that, Aziraphale found himself officially at a loose end. He was going to continue his book trading and repairing services but only out of personal interest.

Opening some windows in the flat to air it out, he pottered about, dusting, checking on the plants (well watered), prepared to empty out the fridge (no need, it was full of fresh supplies) and a bottle of Krug sat on the counter with a small white card that had _Welcome Home Angel_ scrawled messily on it.

_Crowley had promised to take care of the plants, apparently extending his services to make sure Aziraphale came home to a well stocked fridge and a bottle of something nice….hopefully with the intention to share._

_Aziraphale thought back to his last session with Victor, who had wanted to explore some of Aziraphale’s self esteem issues, in relation to how he thought other people saw him. He had been tasked with writing a list of his thoughts on some key interactions, and then writing down the facts of the situation._

_Of course, Crowley was at the heart of his response, and Victor had carefully taken him through the process of comparing how he had interpreted a situation, versus what the bare observed facts were. It had shaken him to the core to realise how warped his perception of self was when pared down to the very basics._

_His greatest fear was that Crowley was toying with him, playing some unknown game, entertaining himself at Aziraphale’s expense. After all, what could someone so gorgeous want with a pudgy middle aged book obsessed introvert? How could he possibly be attracted to what Aziraphale saw in the mirror every day?_  
  
_Yet, under Victor’s guidance, he had seen that yes, Crowley did keep showing up for him, selflessly. That he appeared to be genuinely concerned for Aziraphale’s welfare, that he enjoyed his company. Squirming in embarrassment, sharing some of the details of their last encounter, stating how Crowley had stated in no uncertain terms how he felt, Victor asked one final question._

_“Do you trust him? Do you believe him?”_

_Staring down at the large sheets of paper that they had written notes, drawn diagrams, made lists and quibbled over semantics more than once, Aziraphale had to admit the truth of not only what they had worked through, but his gut instinct._

_“Yes. I do.”_

_Victor had smiled “Good, you will want to overthink absolutely everything now, do you still have the blue goo? Yes, carry it with you and use it. Learn to see the pattern and try and break it.”_

_Thoughtfully Aziraphale picked up the small book with a bold red cover and the words Crucial Conversations on the front that Victor had handed him, saying “Homework, I’m going to say read just the first couple of chapters but I suspect you will read all of it. However, we will be discussing them on your next visit.”_

_He had of course read all of it, but he was going to go back and read just those chapters in preparation for his next appointment. Already Aziraphale could begin to see some aspects of his behaviour with more clarity, and the book explained the science behind it in a way that made sense to him._

_The flight or fight response was deeply instinctive but it offered tools to help overcome and manage stressful situations. He doubted his ability to remember in the heat of a moment but he also remembered the look of shock on Gabriel’s face when he had stood his ground._

_Slowly he was beginning to uncover a different way to see himself. It was mildly terrifying, in that it gave him hope for a future he had never dreamed of reaching for before._

_A future where he made his own choices._

_A future where he chose Crowley._

The familiar rhythm of ‘We Will Rock You’ blasted him out of his reverie, Crowley had programmed it in as his personal ringtone on Aziraphale’s phone, but he didn’t call as frequently as he texted.

“Crowley, how are you?”

“Hey Angel” he sounded tired and stressed “Home okay?”

“Yes, just a couple of hours ago. Thankyou for the fresh food, very thoughtful. You sound terrible, is everything alright?”

“Mmm sorry Angel, the timing is fucking shit, but that potential client I told you about, well, they signed the contract. I’m heading out on Sunday, and I won’t be back for three weeks, maybe longer.”

Bitter disappointment filled him at that news, but he rallied, doing his best to sound chipper “But that is marvellous news, it was the job of a lifetime, if I remember correctly?”

“Yeah, rich American heiress with too much money and no sense who wants *the* Anthony J. Crowley to makeover some country manor she inherited. So they can entertain once a year.” He sounded disgusted but perked up “Charged her twice my going rate plus expenses, silly tart tried to argue me down.”

“Well three weeks isn’t that long. What will you be doing?”

Crowley huffed a laugh and put on his most camp voice “Daaaahling, I have a process. I simply must be left alone, absorb the aura, become one with the building, hear its voice.”

Stifling a giggle at how tragic Crowley sounded, Aziraphale just waited while the red head sighed on his end of the phone “Actually, that’s pretty much what I do. Need to be in the space, get a feel for the place, see what the light is like. Buildings have a soul, especially the old ones. The biggest problem most people have is they ignore that, and just remodel, and its not always harmonious.”

Smiling Aziraphale said “You have the soul of a poet, my dear.”

He could hear the warmth in the reply “Well, you would know angel.”

“Indeed. I will keep the Krug for when you get back, celebrate a job well done?”

“Yeah, I’m probably not going to have time to catch up before, wanted to let you know.”

“Are you taking The Bentley?”

“Bloody oath I am!”

“Drive safely then, dearest.”

_Come home to me, my darling._

“Always, angel.”

_Wait for me my love. I’m coming home…soon._


	26. A Change of Scenery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds treasure in the form of an extensive library at the new job - one that might be worth something if only a knowledgeable expert might be available to come onsite and assess it......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******************************************************************************
> 
> Delicious Readers - I am FINALLY back with a LONG chapter - sorry its taken a while - I was super busy with work and then got struck down with a very nasty head cold (that I'm still recovering from).
> 
> Plus I wanted to make sure this was a GOOD chapter......
> 
> Also I'm only slightly sorry......but it had to be done - its already a 5k chapter.
> 
> Feel free to yell at me in the comments tho!
> 
> ********************************************************************

It had been a gorgeous old manor house once. Crowley’s heart ached a little for the faded glory that was all that remained. He guessed the original building dated to the 1700s or so, with another wing added probably 100 years later, based on the more Regency styling.

Back in those days they were used to living without electricity, no taps running hot water and definitely no aircon. He doubted the tastelessly wealthy Carmine Zuigiber wanted a residence full of lead based paint, likely toxic flocked wallpaper and probably asbestos in the more modern wing built out the back after WWI.

It would literally cost a fortune to gut this place and refit it with all the necessary modern conveniences. After a week investigating the premises, Crowley had already decided to turn the job down. This once proud residence deserved better, and while turning down the opportunity of a lifetime made him feel a little queasy, seeing this piece of English heritage turned into mere window dressing to feature in a glossy magazine layout made him feel worse.

He didn’t know if the smell was from dodgy drains or a body slowly decomposing under the floorboards somewhere, but the caretakers obviously had done as little as possible to keep the place standing. Given the last time any actual family had been in residence was decades ago, likely money was tight and there was too much for any one person to really do beyond dust and clean and garden, he tried not to feel too sad on behalf of the building.

The caretakers had buggered off to Spain for a holiday, leaving him rattling around alone in the dusty echoing space. At least the newer section had been updated in the last 20 years, so there *was* electricity and hot water, plus mod cons like insulation and heating. Not that he needed any with the unseasonably muggy warmth making the air sticky and unpleasant.

Time and again he found himself returning to the cool dry refuge of the library. Well insulated by the floor to ceiling bookcases, on the cooler side of the building, it was the only place that got reliable cell signal. He returned regularly to keep in contact with the outside world. There was very slow WIFI in the guest suite which barely managed to cope with loading his emails. No Netflix and chill here!

_Aziraphale would be in raptures to see this place, it’s got probably thousands of books, some of them look old enough to be handmade. Mind you, then I would never see him if he did visit, stuck with his nose in a bloody book…._

His phone beeped busily in a flurry of notifications and reminders as it connected to the network, he went straight to his email to keep tabs on what was happening back at the office. Tracy had it all handled, but he liked to know what was going on and she appreciated it was easier to update him, than deal with a stressed out boss.

Halfway down the unread emails was a surprise, the American had responded to his query:

**Anthony**

**Thanks for the headsup that the library contents might be worth selling. Your idea to get them appraised and valued sounds good. This professor guy you recommend seems to check out, so make him the offer. Add his fee to your bill.**

**Carmine Z**

Irritated at her rude abrupt manner _bloody arrogant Yanks_ but delighted that she had agreed with his idea _telling himself that there could be some valuable books in there when he really knew it was a thinly veiled ploy to get his Angel up here, where they could be blissfully alone together……._

_Bee would have a lot to say about that, probably after they gave him a round of applause for finally getting his shit together._

Hands trembling with nervous anticipation, he pulled Aziraphale’s name up in his contacts, pacing the worn carpet while he waited for the call to be answered.  
  
“Crowley?”

“Hey Angel, miss me?”

 _Crowley could see that dear familiar face folding into that shy smile, eyes crinkling at the edges_ “Of course my dear, how are things?”

“What would you say if I told you there was a library here, full of books and covered in dust, in desperate need of someone to appraise and value it?”

“I would say - email me some photos and my rate is five thousand pounds.”

“A week?”

An amused snort “Crowley dear boy, that’s my daily rate.”

“Jesus Christ! People pay that?” He heard Aziraphale take in an outraged breath “Sorry Angel, just….didn’t realise books were so lucrative.”

“I have to charge that much, otherwise I would be bothered with queries all the time. Weeds out the tyre kickers, as they say.”

“Yeah, I hear you. So how long do you think you will need?” _Trying not to sound too eager…_

“Well, I would have to see the photos, but probably at least a week?”

“Right, let me grab some photos with my phone and send them.”

“I’m breathless with anticipation.” Wry humour filled Aziraphale’s voice.

Standing in the middle of the quiet library, feeling the weight of the words lining the walls, dust motes dancing in the bars of sunlight through the leadlight windows, Crowley smiled “You should be, Angel.”

_Aziraphale was beside himself with excitement at the possibilities revealed in the photos, demanding many closeups until Crowley replied “Just get up here already!”_

***************************************************************

The train from London to Bath took a couple of hours, Aziraphale passed the time watching the countryside going by while listening to music. Learning that his phone could play almost anything he wanted had been a revelation, coupled with the delights of wireless ear buds, and he had music wherever he wanted (provided he remembered to CHARGE said devices).

He enjoyed trains, there were faint but fond memories of the family travelling to London by train, with card games and colouring books. These modern carriages muffled the rhythmic clatter of the wheels, moving much faster and swaying less, but it was enough to let him lose himself in mindless space that a seasoned traveller develops.

Startled back to awareness as the shrill voice announced their arrival into Bath, he gathered his suitcases, and wished for the rapid nervous pulse he could feel pounding to calm itself. Crowley had advised the weather was warm and to ‘pack light layers and sunscreen’ so he had clothes in one case and his Book Go Bag (as Anathema named it) containing all his usual tools in the other.

As he alighted from the carriage, bags in hand, keeping an eye out for a tall redhead in the crowd, he immediately regretted wearing his bow tie, leather brogues and favourite jersey. It was stiflingly hot and muggy in the station, and it didn’t get any better when he ventured outside.

He almost didn’t recognise Crowley when he saw him, in fact it was the familiar sleek black shape of the Bentley he noticed first. The tall lean body that had been leaning on the car straightened up and walked towards him, hair up in a jaunty ponytail, wearing a faded tshirt with some logo on it, a pair of paint splattered grey cargo pants cut off below the knee, and god forbid, those dreadful plastic clog things in shocking pink. He did at least, look comfortable in the heat.

  
Aziraphale gave him a head to toe once over in his most camp gay manner, looked up to heaven, saying “Oh! Good Lord!” but Crowley just grinned at him from under the sunglasses.

“Bloody hell you must be roasting! Did you actually bring any sensible clothes?”

Unsure if the blush was embarrassment or just overheating Aziraphale stammered a little “Ummm I’ve got some tshirts, linen shirts and pants….”

“Get in Angel, I’ll turn the aircon on. Lets go shopping.”

An hour later, wearing a tshirt, a lightweight linen shirt, some tailored bermuda shorts in breathable cotton, pale blue canvas espadrilles and a panama Aziraphale felt *much* better. He insisted on stopping at a bottlestore, stocking up on champagne and wine while Crowley hit the supermarket for extra groceries for two.

By the time they got in the car and headed to their destination, any nervousness had worn off in the face of Crowley’s familiar banter, and they talked with the comfortable closeness of two old friends on the short journey home.

As they drove up the tree shadowed drive, the manor house revealed itself nestled in a small valley lined with mature trees and surrounded by fields dotted with sheep. It felt like taking a step back in time by a couple of hundred years, until Crowley pulled the Bentley to a stop next to a more modern wing out the back.

_From a distance the building looked stately and elegant but as they got closer the neglect and disrepair became more obvious. Several boarded-up windows, ivy smothering one corner of the building, broken brickwork, faded paint and an overwhelming feeling of melancholy filled Aziraphale at the sight of it. He remembered Crowleys words “Buildings have a soul” and standing there, looking at the empty remains of a once splendid residence, Aziraphale understood, quite profoundly what that meant._

_The feeling of familiar comfort that welcomed him home to the flat over the bookstore now felt much more meaningful to him. His building had a soul (as did the many books residing there) and he realised what people meant when they said they felt ‘at home’ in a space._

_It made him consider Crowley’s work in an entirely new light._

They headed inside, Aziraphale following the swaying red ponytail in fascination while its owner chattered on about the residence. Making their way into the guest suite Crowley gathered up the extra bags of clothing “I’ll chuck this in the washer for you.” Nodding down a long hallway he said “Room on the end is free, lots of windows and a bloody enormous desk you can work on.”

It was obviously the master bedroom of the suite, he passed two other doorways and wondered which one was Crowleys, as this was obviously not in use. Dust lay in thin layers across the tops of the almost dining table sized desk at the far end of the room, and the dressers and the room needed airing.

_He noted fresh sheets were on the bed and realised that Crowley was doing as he had promised, giving him space. A little disappointed but also relieved, sharing a bed as friends who needed comfort was one thing, sharing a bed as potential …… something else….was another._

A plate was shoved in front of him when he ventured back into the kitchen, thick slices of ham, freshly buttered crusty bread and a salad “Eat something before you disappear down the rabbit hole, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed, as he had been about to do just that “You know me too well” he murmured as he sat, tucking into the meal. “Tell me about this place?” _he let the slow drawl of Crowley’s voice lull him into a sense of quiet contentment. They were alone here, with the time and space to just be…..whatever that was._

*******************************************************

The look on Aziraphale’s face as he entered the library was almost transcendant, eyes wide and shining, breathing out a softly reverent “Oh, oh my.” Dropping his bag to the floor, he walked in further, closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose deeply, walking further into the room and repeating it twice more.

Puzzled, Crowley leaned on the doorframe and watched, intrigued how Aziraphales body language had completely changed. He stood taller, more visibly took up space, lifted his head higher yet appeared even more grounded than he normally did. When he turned and smiled brilliantly at Crowley, the redhead felt it like a physical blow, breath stuttering in his lungs.

_Standing there with sunlight limning his hair like an angelic halo, eyes blazing blue, Crowley understood the stories of people driven to their knees at the sight of angels. He too wanted to fall at this beautiful man’s feet in worship, perhaps to bow his head and feel that warm solid hand caress his hair. To feel it stroke the side of his face, lift his chin and gently part his eager lips with a tender brush of his thumb…._

Lost in his daydream, Crowley started when Aziraphale spoke softly, as if unwilling to disturb the slumbering books “Knowledge is the treasure of a wise man. Crowley, this is treasure indeed.”

“Bloody buried treasure if you ask me” he grouched but Aziraphale smiled even more brightly.  
  
“Oh yes, the very *best* kind….” He trailed off, eyes scanning the shelves, Crowley could see he was indeed falling down the rabbit hole, backed out, quietly closing the doors behind him, leaving Aziraphale to his work.

************************************************

Several hours later he trekked down to the library, opening the doors to find a familiar blond head bent over a desk covered with stacks of books, as he wrote with his meticulously neat handwriting in a large ledger. Such was his concentration that Crowley was almost afraid to disturb him, waiting until he put the pen down before saying “Aziraphale, you need to take a break.”

“Mmmmm” was the absentminded reply.

Feeling like he was trying to prise a pearl from the stubborn grip of an oyster, Crowley sidled around the desk, stopping when he was next to the preoccupied man, slowly leaning down spanning his fingers out wide, placing his hand firmly and very inconveniently in the middle of the page, and waited.  
  
With an irritated huff, Aziraphale pushed his chair back to stare up at the source of his annoyance, who was smiling down at him with patient resignation _oh fuck, doesn’t he just look adorable in those reading glasses_ “Food Aziraphale, I never thought anything could get between you and food, but apparently books are your achilles heel. Take a break angel?”

Wincing as his stiff muscles began to make themselves known, groaning just a little as he got up, Aziraphale laid his reading glasses down “Lead the way, dear boy.”

_For the next few days that was their pattern, although Aziraphale programmed in some reminders into his phone, to get him up and walking about. He missed his comfortable chair at home more than he realised. Eventually he discovered that Crowley could easily be found because he carried a sleek black cylinder with him that output music at a quite appalling volume._

Today, as he wandered out into the garden to enjoy fresh air and sunshine, he couldn’t hear any music at all. The Bentley sat gleaming and predatory, napping in the afternoon warmth so Crowley appeared to be on the premises. Grabbing his panama and water bottle, deciding it was entirely too nice a day to be stuck inside for all of it, Aziraphale went exploring.

Like the rest of the place, the garden was obviously neglected. Formal rose beds now sprawling thickets of thorny canes, entangled with grasses but putting on a blaze of colour, the fragrance heady in the still heat. The grass had been mown, some of the cottage borders had been tended to a little better, bees humming happily among lavender, foxgloves standing tall.

It was pleasant, just to wander with no real purpose other to enjoy being outside, Aziraphale suddenly realised why he spent so much time feeding the ducks at St James’s Park, it was the nearest decent sized area of greenery. Having been a city resident for so long, he had forgotten the intrinsic healing power being in nature offered the soul, and he vowed to spend more time in the countryside. He had a cottage there, after all.

Lost in his thoughts, feet navigating themselves around a stand of trees, enjoying the cool shade, he headed towards the sound of a stream along the faint outline of a path through the patches of ferns. The smell of green plants and damp earth rose as he walked around another bend in the path and stopped in surprise. Standing in the middle of the wide stream was Crowley, shorts rolled up above his knees, hair pulled back into his usual hot weather ponytail, shirtless, bent over with his hands in the water, cursing through gritted teeth as he worked at lifting something out of the stream.

Transfixed, Aziraphale stood watching the sleek muscles work along his back and shoulders as he braced to try and lift a rock, perhaps? 

_He had a sudden vision of that same back, flexing and straining underneath him, white cotton sheets bunched between those clever fingers, sweat dampening his shoulders and spine as Aziraphale thrust with measured precision into the wet heat centered between his taut arse cheeks. How he would bend forward to press reverent kisses wherever he could reach, taste the sweatsalt of his skin, murmuring words of praise while doing his very best to render Crowley utterly incapable of speech._

With a half shouted “Fuck!” arms flailing as his hands slipped, Crowley staggered upright, having managed to avoid falling in the stream by contorting his spine in ways that looked both painful and impossible, he panted, wiping strands of hair out of his face with one dripping hand.

Aziraphale stepped forward, saying “Do you need a hand?”

Startled the redhead swung around, completely lost his balance as a foot slid out underneath him, and he went down backwards into the water with a yell and a splash. Horrified Aziraphale rushed forward, only to see a soaking wet Crowley sitting up, waist deep in the water, wet hair plastered to his skin, laughing like a lunatic.

Waving Aziraphale off, he lurched to his feet, picked his way to the other side of the stream, where the bank was a gentle grass slope and collapsed down in a leggy heap, still sniggering.  
  
“Fuck, you should have seen your face, angel. Come on, its not deep.”

Making a delicate moue of distaste, slipping of his shoes and rolling up his shorts, slowly sliding his feet into the water, feeling for patches of sand between the slippery rocks, he navigated across, sitting at a safe distance from the dripping redhead who sighed and leaned back on the shaded grass “Was about done for the day anyway. S’too hot, hadn’t planned on a swim though.”

Crossing his legs, turning to face the other man, Aziraphale asked “What on earth were you doing Crowley?”

Sitting up, wringing water out of his hair, Crowley shrugged “Tuning the stream.”

Aziraphale gaped at him in complete bafflement while Crowley leaned back on his hands, a slow smirk turning up the corners of his mouth as he very obviously gave the blond a visual once over.

“Beginning to think you were part vampire, never to be seen in daylight again, angel.” He drawled in that teasing tone “Hope that delicate pale skin of yours has got sunscreen on?”

Realising he didn’t, Aziraphale deflected “How on earth can you have a tan, you’re a ….. redhead?”

Blinking, Crowley smirked even wider at him “You were going to say a ‘natural redhead’ weren’t you?” He twitched one shoulder “Lucky genes or something, not fond of the bloody freckles though.”

Without thinking Aziraphale said “They call freckles ‘angel kisses’ did you know?”

Crowley blinked again, very slowly and Aziraphale felt something deep inside spark like a hot ember at the complicated expression that flickered inside those amber eyes, but Crowley only murmured “Do they just” before hoisting himself to his feet. He held out a hand for Aziraphale, lifting him up, but holding them both still for a moment.

“Close your eyes and listen to the sound of the water” Crowley instructed, so Aziraphale did as he was bid.

“It sounds like …… water in a stream?”

“Smart arse. C’mon, you can give me a hand.” Opening his eyes as he was unceremoniously tugged towards the stream, he planted his heels and resisted. When Crowley stopped with a jerk and a surprised look, Aziraphale calmly let go of his grasp, slipped off his shirt, folded it and put it on a dry patch of grass. 

He held his hand out saying calmly “Lead on” and Crowley lead them into the middle of the stream.

“That long triangle shaped rock, I was trying to lift it so that it stands on its base.” Crowley grimaced “Too bloody slippery and a bit too heavy for me. But both of us should shift it.”

Rolling up his shorts even more, Aziraphale bent down to get a better look at their target, turning his head up to Crowley “How heavy do you think it is?”

“Dunno, 40-50 kilos maybe. Too slippery for a decent grip though.”

Crouching he plunged his arms into the rippling water, getting a feel for the size and shape of the thing, Crowley was right that it was covered with a slick layer of slime. He hunted around for a patch of sandy gravel, grabbed two handfuls and rubbed them on the two obvious handholds to try and remove some of the slick.

Keeping some for grip in his palms, Aziraphale said over his shoulder “Stand back a bit dear boy”, bent, squatted like an Olympian weightlifter, settled his hands and then heaved. Once, twice to loosen the rock from the tenacious grip of the stream bed, then with a pause, he lifted again, straining until with a surging rush of water, the rock was lifted then carefully turned and placed base down. A bit of wiggling got it settled and they stacked some smaller rocks around to hold it steady.

With a cheerful smile Aziraphale asked “So why did we do this?”

Crowley led him back to the stream bank where they stood, watching how the tip of the rock just pierced the flow of water, making it plink and bubble around it _._ The sound of the stream was completely changed with the original low murmur in the background but the cheerful top notes adding another layer of sound.

_It immediately bought back memories of childhood summers, splashing about in the shallows of a river with his father while his mother laid out a picnic lunch under the shade of a tree._

“Oh” said Aziraphale quietly “I see….but how did you know?”

Crowley, who was staring at him with a slightly dazed look on his face, blinked and shook his head “Learned in Japan angel.”

Thoughtfully Aziraphale said “You could build a mini dam perhaps? Or larger cairns I guess you might call them?” He grinned at the redhead “Can we play a bit more?”

“Don’t blame me if you fall in, angel” drawled Crowley.

_They pottered about in the stream for an hour or so, but all Crowley could focus on was the casual strength that Aziraphale had so gracefully demonstrated. He might consider himself soft but the sight of the muscles bunching in his thighs and shoulders, perfectly poised with the knowledge he was capable of such physical activity (plus the sudden expanses of angelically pale skin now on display)…..well it was safe to say that Crowley.exe had gone completely offline._

_He imagined how it might feel to have his wrists grasped lightly but firmly, pressed to the mattress, held still no matter how hard he strained against the immovable grip……those solid plush thighs straddling him, the weight of that stocky body behind his, soft fingers pressed into a bruising grip around his hips…_

When he fell in the stream for a second time, Crowley splashed a laughing Aziraphale until they were both dripping wet, ungraciously allowing the blond to haul him upright.

“Fuck this for a game of bloody soldiers” he grumbled while giving up on wringing the water out of his hair “I need a shower. And a drink. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Whose turn is it to make dinner, because I’m jolly peckish” Aziraphale gathered up his clothes and smiled sunnily at Crowley who stared at him in astonishment.

“You haven’t cooked, can barely manage not to burn the bloody toast….” He was spluttering when Aziraphale said serenely  
  
“So delightful of you to offer, my dear, I’m sure it will be delicious, as usual.” He waltzed off across the lawn, leaving Crowley to mutter “Bastard” wincing at the twinge in his lower back as he slowly walked behind him.

***********************************************************

Showers were had, dinner was made and eaten, laptops were hauled out and tapped away on, until Crowley rose with a groan and a stretch.

“My hair smells like pondweed, gonna wash it properly” to which Aziraphale replied with his usual preoccupied “Mmmmm.”

But when Crowley sauntered slightly slower than usual into the bathroom, Aziraphale shut his laptop down, turned down most of the lights and cued up some music. It was near sunset, the air warm and still, cicada’s audible with insects flitting about in the dusk.

He grabbed some pillows off the spare bed, tucking them and some of the larger throw pillows behind the sofa, settling himself down with a book, bare feet tucked up beside him, attempting to be the picture of innocence.

Immersed in the book, it wasn’t til Crowley hissed under his breath that Aziraphale noticed his return. He had been in the bathroom a while, yet was still walking a little short on the left leg. Working a wide tooth comb through the tangled redcopper locks was the reason for the hissing, the comb was stuck in a snarl.

Placing a throw pillow on the floor in front of him, Aziraphale patted it “Let me have a go” responding to the silent question thrown his way “I’ll be gentle, my dear. I promise.”

Grumbling under his breath, Crowley folded himself down onto the cushion, leaned back between Aziraphales sturdy knees, resting on the sofa cushion and sighed in what sounded relief “Have at it, angel.”

Starting with the ends, working in sections, Aziraphale worked with careful concentration until he was able to comb all the way through smoothly. He put the comb aside and then gently threaded his fingers onto Crowley’s scalp and started giving him a slow deep scalp massage, working from temples to nape, until his thumbs were probing deep into the sub-occipitals.

Tilting his head back into the cradling hands Crowley groaned deep “God that feels good Angel.”

Letting one hand work its way down his neck, thumb working around the vertebrae and gently into the trapezius, fingers cupped around the side of that long throat, Aziraphale murmured “I can keep going….if you like..”

Underneath his fingertips, he felt Crowley swallow _hard_ so he continued into the now charged silence “You’re limping on your bad leg, don’t think I didn’t notice. Probably strained it when you fell in the stream I’m guessing…..?”

Voice low and husky Crowley said reluctantly “Yeah, twisted my back a bit too. But..” He went to sit forward, but the hand half around his throat stopped him “You don’t need to fuss angel, it’s nothing serious, be right as rain in a few days. S’not really not worth the trouble….”

“CROWLEY” Aziraphale put a soft bite of command into his tone which shut the redhead up _under his fingertips he felt another hard swallow and a flutter of pulse_ “You helped me when I needed it, so let me return the favour.”  
  
 _I can help you, let me help you, let me take your pain away….  
  
_

_Time in therapy had taught Aziraphale a little about both giving and accepting help. Both he and Crowley had a tendency towards giving but more than a little resistant to accepting help. He knew Crowley would allow it …..eventually…..but tonight he didn’t want to waste time coaxing him into it…_

He tightened his grip possessively one hand knotted in his hair, the other still half encircling his throat, just enough that Crowley would know he was doing it deliberately. Speaking with that soft snap of control  
  
“Just for once in your life, be a good boy and **do as you’re told** ….Hmmmm?"

_Aziraphale felt the tremor shudder through Crowley’s frame, the fluttering pulse now pounding a rapid beat, the air felt somehow heavier, he held his breath, waiting for the inevitable reply….._

_When Crowley leaned his head and body back into Aziraphales grasp, he swallowed, licking his lips, before taking a deep breath, letting it out in one heavy sigh, relaxing completely in submission._

“Alright Angel….tell me what to do…”


	27. FINALLY!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!!
> 
> HERE BE SMUT!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******************************************************************************  
> Most delicious of readers! Thankyou for your patience.
> 
> Finally I've called it done on this chapter - between coming down with bronchitis, coronavirus, our country going on lockdown and my cat being quite sick its been a rough few weeks. Hard to write sexy times in those situations so I hope this meets your long awaited hopes for our two Ineffable Idiots :)
> 
> With grateful thanks to Tarek and GayDemonicDisaster for beta reading this - was much appreciated.
> 
> **********************************************************************

“Have you got some massage oil….cream…?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab it.” Crowley hoisted himself slowly upright, groaning a little, not bothering to hide his limp now and Aziraphale called after him “Bring a couple of large towels, if you please.”

He hauled the sofa cushions onto the floor, laid them out in a line, put one of the pillows down about hip height, arranging one of the throw pillows at the top end, and turned off all the lights except one. Making sure there was room for him to move around comfortably, he sat and waited for Crowley to return.

Taking the towels from the puzzled redhead, laying them down across the soft massage bed he had assembled “To protect the upholstery” which earned him a soft smile.

“How do you want me Angel?” _They shared a heated glance, but Aziraphale merely raised one eyebrow with a smirk, acknowledging the innuendo but not gracing it with a reply._

“Face down, shirt off. Make yourself comfy, dearest.”

Stripping his faded tshirt off, Crowley carefully lowered himself as instructed, tucking and shifting pillows until he was lying comfortably, arms bent up and his face resting on his hands, hair thoughtfully tied up in a looped ponytail.

Aziraphale plumped and tweaked the arrangement, moving the pillow more solidly underneath Crowley’s hips “There, all set?”

“Mmmm, might go to sleep on you though.”

“Feel free, now how do I use this?” Aziraphale frowned at the silver lozenge shaped tin containing a cream colour bar of something slippery.

“Just rub it on the skin, melts. Don’t need much, greasy as all hell.”

It did melt quickly and a little went a long way. He slicked his hands, shuffled round so that Crowley’s head was between his spread knees, ready to start work, when he said “You need to tell me if I’m pressing too hard, or if it hurts. Don’t be stoic Crowley, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Pretty sure OW! works.”

Aziraphale sighed “Alright then, so long as you say something. Ready?”

“Mmmmm” Crowley murmured into the cushion.

He spanned his hands flat across sharply defined shoulderblades, making sweeping circular motions up and down the tattooed back. This spread the oil efficiently, while warming up the top layer of muscle.

Moving around to Crowley’s right hand side, he worked smoothly, hands never stopping as he started at the hip, up the long flat muscles down the spine, wrapped around the ribs, until the lightly tanned skin was a glowing pink and he could **finally** feel some relaxation seep into the body under his hands.  
  
As he began to work a bit deeper on the knots and tightness, he used the hisses and grunts and winces to guide how much pressure Crowley could handle. Around the back of the hips and pelvis was very tight, with lots of gnarly areas that needed much more work. Shifting to loosen up the complicated muscles around the shoulder, swooping along the shoulder and neck until it softened and Crowley relaxed with a deep sigh.

Softly Aziraphale said “Switching to the other side now, how was that?”

“Fucking fantastic angel” Crowley sounded a little drunk. Keeping light contact with one hand, shuffling around to the other side Aziraphale repeated the process until Crowley was groaning, sinking bonelessly into the cushions.

Stroking a hand lightly down the tattooed back Aziraphale said “Can you slip your pants off now, dearest. That hip needs a good seeing to.”

Instantly Crowley tensed, his head came up and he peered at Aziraphale blearily over one shoulder “Ummmm….commando, angel…”

“Excellent, one less thing to remove. Can you do the honours? Just lift your hips and I’ll slide them off. There we go.”

Daring greatly, he applied the bar to his hands again, with firm professional strokes, he worked over the slightly tense bum, around the hip, and carefully down the length of thigh. At least two pins held the femur together, a thin silver line of scar travelled from hip to just above the knee, Aziraphale suspected it had been a nasty break indeed.

_Without any fanfare, Crowley was laid out gloriously naked in front of him, Aziraphale’s eyes roamed over the angles and planes of his back, to the delicious tight arsecheeks, down the lean lines of his legs. The tattoo was on full display now, his fingers itched to trace its path down between those lithe thighs._

The massage bar had a heady exotic fragrance, oriental and spicy and it was starting to affect his composure. His movements became slower, verging on a deep caress until Crowley shifted his hips slightly, saying huskily “Trying to seduce me angel?”

Coming back to himself with a start, Aziraphale paused before replying “I said I’d take care of you, and I shall.”

Crowley stretched, rolling his hips back and forward until his spine popped and cracked in a couple of places. With a sigh he said “Yeah? For the record, you have my very enthusiastic consent.”

“Oh good, because I’m about to stick my thumbs into your delicious arse and it is going to hurt.”

“Promises, promi..OW FUCK!”

“Oh yes, your Gluteus maximus and medius are very tight. Breathe through this, darling boy.”

As Crowley writhed and swore underneath him, he worked thumbs deeper into the offending muscles, following the line of the pelvis up to the hip. As his patient lay there panting, Aziraphale switched back to the long slow glide, easing him through the worse of the pain, continuing down to lightly loosen up the long muscles in the thigh.

He got up, poured two glasses of juice out of the fridge, kneeling on the other side of Crowley “Drink this, it will help.”

When the glass was empty Crowley laid his head down, rather muffled asked “We nearly done angel?”

“Nearly, just roll over so I can loosen up the front of your hip, be a dear.” He serenely sipped on his own juice while Crowley visibly tensed.

“Angel….I’m….naked.”

“Oh believe me, I’m well aware.” He watched in delight as a blush of pink bloomed down the redhead’s shoulders and back and the silence drew heavy between them until he took pity on the poor man.  
  
He laid a hand lightly on one freckled shoulder “Don’t worry, it’s a typical reaction, nothing I haven’t seen before…”

The shoulder under his hand lifted as Crowley turned and looked up at him with an enigmatic and somewhat challenging expression for a long moment. Then with a lazy smirk he carried on turning, til he lay on his back, arms crossed behind his head, a quite spectacular erection on full display.

Unconciously Aziraphale licked his lips, his gaze darting up to Crowley’s face, where the smirk grew only wider as he arched one eyebrow in a very unsubtle question. ‘ _Get a hold of yourself , you idiot´ he told himself and his cock twitched in absolute agreement, heat beginning to pool at the base of his spine. He hoped the folds of his shorts hid his own hardening erection, shuffling down in an attempt to camouflage it, but he could tell that Crowley knew he was not….unaffected._

Biting the inside of his lip to sharpen his focus, he began stroking down the long thigh muscles, taking care not to press down along the line of the scar. Using his thumbs to knead into the tightness above the knee, following the big muscles back up to the hip. Conscious that he had left the likely most painful area until last, he murmured “This will probably hurt a bit, try and breathe through it.”

As he worked, he kept stealing glances at Crowley’s magnificent cock, he dressed to the left and Aziraphale was trying to avoid too much contact, but couldn’t help the merest brush past on a couple of occasions, fingers tangling in wiry copper curls that had been rather tidily manscaped.  
  
 _He felt the contact like a surge of electricity, Crowley tensing underneath him in response, gasping and holding his breath, letting it out with a whisper of “Angel” in a tone that pleaded for more…._

It was doing a pretty good job of distracting his patient from the painful work Aziraphale was doing with his fingertips, and he smiled to himself.

“Staring at my cock and smiling, should I take that as a good sign angel?”

Aziraphale gave him a long level glance before replying “Actually I was going to ask you for your detective’s phone number.”

Crowley stared at him before flopping dramatically on the pillow “Perfect, sees my cock and thinks of another man. How is this my life?”

Leaning forward to tuck one finger under the redhead’s chin and point it back towards him holding him still for a moment, Aziraphale said in tones of mock outrage “I wanted to ask him if a concealed carry permit was required for a weapon of that calibre. **Actually**.” _Putting all the bitch into the last word for added impact._

It was worth it to see the utterly gobsmacked look on Crowley’s face as he processed that rather startling sentence then began, helplessly to laugh “Fuck you are an utter bastard angel, get down here and kiss me already!”

He leaned forward until they were inches apart. Blue eyes stared into amber as the tension ratcheted even tighter between them until Crowley closed his eyes, whispering “Please Aziraphale, don’t stop now, I’ve waited so long for this…”

“As have I, my darling” leaning to slowly close the gap until their lips meet, sweetly, softly, Crowley tilting his head just that extra bit, parting his lips to dart his tongue out in teasing challenge.

Slow sensual kisses turn into heated hungry feasting on each other’s mouths, and whatever skin they can reach. Hands stroking, grasping, Aziraphale’s shirt unbuttoned in a frenzy of fingers and swearing, tossed carelessly aside in the urgency of getting closer, skin on skin until they break apart, gasping, sheened with sweat.

Dipping his head to taste the salty dip above Crowley’s collarbone, sucking kisses and nibbles into the arched throat, nuzzling that one spot under his ear that leaves Crowley helplessly gasping broken consonants, pliant and so very willing.

Hands tugging at his pants distract him from this pleasant interlude, Crowley muttering “Want you angel, get these bloody pants off” but Aziraphale catches his hands, pulling them up, wrapping his fingers in a light grip around the bony wrists “No darling, tonight is about me taking care of you, hmmm.”

Finding himself pinned down by the solid weight of Aziraphale, both arms restrained at the wrist, Crowley closed his eyes, breathed in and then out slowly, grounding himself before replying “It appears I’m at your mercy, angel”. He opened his eyes slowly “Do whatever you like…”

“Tell me what *you* like Crowley. Show me what you like best, my darling,” Releasing his hold on Crowley’s wrists, Aziraphale grabbed one of the discarded pillows, tucking it under so he could recline like a Roman emperor with Crowley laid out like a feast in front of him.

“Show you….like ….. touch myself?” Crowley asked hazily as Aziraphales fingers stroked teasingly over his skin.

Seemingly enthralled with what he was doing Aziraphale murmured abstractly “Mmmm or tell me so I can touch you.” One finger flicked lightly at a pert nipple and when Aziraphale’s tongue joined in, Crowley lost himself to the pleasure of being worshipped. With hands and mouth roaming with increasing confidence over his body, his world dissolved into breathless needy want.

Through heavy lidded eyes, he gazed up at his lover who smiled down at him with tender satisfaction, and finally those fingertips drifted to _oh fuck yes there!_

“Oh you do make the *most* delicious noises” murmured Aziraphale as with a flick of his wrist he wrung an eloquent “Ngk” out of Crowley. “I could spend all night learning them, but you are sore and tired, and I *did* promise to take care of you.”

He looked down at his hand slowly and firmly stroking the considerable length of Crowleys cock and quirked an eyebrow “Normally I would ask if you wanted my hand or my mouth, but…..”

Gasping hoarsely “Anything you want angel, anything…” Crowley whined as Aziraphale shifted position down between those trembling thighs, moaning when a slick hand closed firmly around his cock, a wide wet tongue laving the length of him with exquisite slowness.

Crowley could hear the smug smile in Aziraphale’s voice as he said “Both it is then”

_Oh fuck yesssssss……. The tight slide of lips and hands built up delicious friction…..a slow smooth glide down followed by a long hard suck on the way up….oh god, for a man with an angel’s name he was sinfully good at sucking cock…._

_“Fuck! Your mouth angel……” he was going to come and come hard, his balls tight already, the familiar heat building at the base of his spine, pooling hot and heavy while Aziraphale skilfully bought him ever closer to the edge, hands grasping blindly at something, anything to hang on to…._

_….he was so close…..time ceased to exist as he hovered on the edge, begging in panting breaths “Angel…oh god…please….harder….fuck….ahhh…”_

_When one fingertip lightly probed his tightly clenched hole, once, twice before sliding in just far enough to light up the nerve endings, Crowley arched up with one shuddering inhale “oh god….yes…fuck…yes….ahhh…I’m gonna…Hhhhhhnnnnnnggghhhhhhh”_

_With a guttural groan as his brain’s pleasure centers explode like fireworks, hips jerking with every delicious pulse as Aziraphale’s hands and mouth wring him dry and leave him basking in a truly epic afterglow._

As the two of them lay there, chests heaving in the aftermath Crowley felt a wave of exhaustion, he had forgotten how tiring pain was, and right now he was utterly knackered. Not quite up to processing actual sentences, he just groaned quietly instead.

“My poor darling, lets get you in the shower and tucked up in bed. Can you stand?” Aziraphale spoke gently as he stood up.

Shaking his head like a rebellious toddler Crowley managed “Carry me.” He cracked an eye to see Aziraphale smiling down at him with an expression of such tenderness it made something within him unfold. Holding one hand up he demanded mock petulantly “Help me up then.”

*************************************  
  
While Crowley showered off the massage oil and staggered to bed, Aziraphale put the lounge to rights, put the towels in the washing machine and made his own way to the bathroom.

Under the rain of hot water he finally gave his own aching cock the relief it demanded, with a hard fast wank that took the edge off, but left him feeling oddly empty and unfulfilled.

_He stopped in surprise, Crowley was asleep in Aziraphale’s bed, face down amongst the pillows, snoring with still adorable snuffles. Apparently they had crossed the line that separated them, Aziraphale felt that tightness of spirit he had been carrying suddenly relax._

_His therapist had said something profound in their last session “This is not a love that you have seen before, this is something else.”_

_While he still struggled with the concept that he himself was worthy of love, he knew, without a doubt that he loved the man who had waited so patiently for Aziraphale. Still feeling guilty for making him wait, he resolved to take every opportunity to show Crowley how he felt. It was time he lived life on his terms…._

Donning underwear and a light tshirt, he slid between the cool sheets, tossing the duvet off the end of the bed. It was almost too hot to sleep but the slow rhythmic snores soothed him, and he drifted off.

****************************************

Sunlight streaming through the windows woke him, eyes closed against the brightness he reached across the bed to find only empty sheets. Assorted aches made themselves known and Aziraphale groaned.

“Not as young as you used to be” he muttered to himself, wincing as his quads had quite a bit to say about standing in cold water while heaving rocks around. He carefully made his way into the bathroom, grateful that it had been fitted out with a mobility friendly corner shower, with a gently sloped floor and grab bars on one side. 

He stood under the spray of hot water, cranking it up to the edge of unbearable, arms braced against one wall, letting the wet heat soak into his muscles. So lost was he in the haze of hot steam, when two arms slithered around his chest and Crowley said huskily in one ear “Mornin’ Angel”, well, he just sighed and pressed back into the embrace.

 _It felt natural to be there, wrapped in Crowley’s arms, natural in how well they fit together. How that dark chocolate and whisky voice in his ear sparked a fire deep down inside him, a complex mix of lust, desire and genuine affection. This was everything he had ever wanted, and the hope that there might be more mornings like this…..it was a temptation he had no intention of resisting…ever…_  
  
Hands roaming with slow deliberate intent, Crowley pressed hot kisses to the delicate skin behind Aziraphale’s ear, where it made him shiver and sigh so deliciously. “Look at you, arse out so damn invitingly. Planning on starting without me, hmmmm?” Crowley purred “Finally I get to see that gorgeous body of yours. D’you know how long I’ve waited to peel you out of all those bloody layers of clothes you insist on wearing?”

He ran his hands with loving attention down the slopes of Aziraphale’s shoulders and back, taking a moment to cup and knead his fine arse, carrying on down the back of those solid thighs to sweep slowly up the front. 

“Here you are, wet and ready for me….” his hands came to rest on the curve of Aziraphale’s hips, long fingers splayed out across his pelvis “Are you ready for me Angel……?”

Grinding his cock into the crease of Aziraphale’s arse, breathing hotly into one pink ear “Tell me you want this, Angel, you want me…”

Aziraphale, who rather uncharacteristically hadn’t said anything at all, groaned and took one hand off the wall, grabbed Crowleys right hand and slid it down to his *very* ready cock, moaning as long fingers closed around him.

_Crowley’s hand stuttered for a minute as his brain processed what his fingers were telling him, that they only just reached around the substantial girth of the angel’s heavy cock._

_He closed his eyes, anticipating the slow delicious burn as it breached him, Aziraphale would be gentle and concerned at first, but Crowley would beg him to fuck him hard, pound those hips til his angel was balls deep……it would be the most exquisite agony…..the perfect blend of pleasure and pain….._

“Fuck Aziraphale, I’m not the one who needs a concealed carry permit!”

He wasn’t sure what response he was expecting, but chortling giggles certainly wasn’t it. Laughing even harder, Aziraphale turned in his embrace, leaning back against the tiles, giggling like an idiot while Crowley stood there, wondering what the hell was going on.

Snorting with suppressed laughter Aziraphale said “Oh my dear, you should see your face.” Reaching up, he drew Crowley in, still giggling in between kisses until Crowley said with exasperation

“I’m **trying** to seduce you angel, what the fuck is so fucking funny?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just had rather the most amusing mental image…..” he trailed off into sniggers again.

Crowley growled “Angel….” Nipping and kissing up under his jaw “If you want me to finish what I started, finish a bloody sentence already!”

He snaked a hand down between them, sliding with a sure grip around that delectable cock, stroking until Aziraphale melted against him, eyes closed in bliss as he murmured “Such talented fingers, my darling, oh don’t stop.”

When Crowley did stop with one lingering caress, he was greeted with a pair of soulful blue eyes over a truly charming pout. It was a potent combination, and any other day he would have let it slide, but today was different.

Today he had something to prove.

“Talk, angel, or so help me…”

With a petulant sigh Aziraphale pouted one more time for effect then grinned “I was thinking about getting your Detective friend to judge….who had the more ‘offensive weapon’, so to speak…”

Crowley blinked the running water out of his eyes “Mike…..built like a brick shithouse, can kill you with his eyebrows?”

Aziraphale nodded again and giggled “And very very straight, so ironically would have no idea….you know…context and such.”

“I **do** know Angel” Aziraphale found himself crowded up against the wall, Crowley plastered to the front of him, one hand reaching out to slap off the spray of water.

“Gonna need a closer look….familiarise myself with the opposition…so to speak.” Flicking his dripping hair off his shoulders with one hand, gracefully sinking to his knees, hands lightly gripping Aziraphale’s hips, he looked up “Need you to say it, angel?”

The sight of Crowley, kneeling naked and glistening wet in front of him had shortcircuited several important parts of Aziraphale’s brain, so it took him a moment to process. He raised a hand, cupped his fingers under that sharp chin, running a thumb along those soft lips.

_When they parted under his touch, darting forward to capture his thumb in a tight wet suck, tongue swirling in an entirely unsubtle manner he gasped, eyes fluttering shut, head tipped back against the cool tiles “Ah…Yes…my darling...I’m yours…”_

_He didn’t expect the almost reverent way Crowley touched him, hands gliding over his wet skin, followed by lingering kisses, nips and nibbles, even bending to place a kiss on the top of his feet, inside his ankles, murmuring words of praise and adoration…..It felt almost holy._

_By now his untouched cock ached, asking with a pleading tone “Crowley….oh please…” while twitching his hips forward in invitation._

_“Needy angel, look at you, begging so prettily” and the hot breath across his cock reduced Aziraphale to whimpering “Does it hurt angel, should I kiss it better?”_

_Frantic nodding was all that Aziraphale was capable off, with the lightest of kisses pressed into his hard length Crowley murmured “Here…or here…or here? There, all better now?”_

_As long clever fingers stroked teasingly down the cleft of his buttocks, Aziraphale shook his head this time, chest heaving as his legs trembled to hold him up “Oh god, oh please….” Torn between pressing back into those questing fingertips, or forward in the hope of….something…he bit his lip and whimpered._

_“Look at you, asking so nicely…always *so* proper angel…” Crowley’s voice was low, rough with his own need “Hiding away this gorgeous cock, would you fuck me with it angel? Fill me up, nice and slow….let me ride you, stretch me wide open with every stroke….” As his slick finger eased into Aziraphale with a delicate thrusting motion, wringing a shuddering groan out of him, Crowley finally wrapped the other hand around the thick base of Aziraphale’s cock._

_“Oh you like that, my beautiful filthy angel, gagging for it, aren’t you? Do you want my mouth angel, taste your delicious cock, worship you here on my knees, is that what you need?” Punctuating every question with a stroke of a finger and a glide of his fist, winding his lover tighter with every movement “Tell me angel...”_

_Sliding his hand up, he eased the foreskin back and carefully applied his tongue to the sensitive underside with a wide flat lick and Aziraphale jerked with a moan “Oh fuck yes, god, oh fuck DON’T STOP!”_

_With a quiet “As you wish” Crowley did as he was commanded, using fist and mouth together. Turned out Aziraphale had quite the base vocabulary when sufficiently motivated, Crowley delighting in finding out **exactly** what it took to reduce him to incoherent moans and swearing._

_Feeling his own orgasm building as he stroked himself in time to his mouth working his lover to those hitching breaths……harder and faster until Aziraphale trembled under him and came with a throaty Grrrrrggggghhhhh. Barely having time to pull off, Crowley followed him, face pressed against one firm thigh, groaning his own ecstasy into pale skin as he shuddered his way to completion._

Sinking down on his knees, wrapping his arms around Crowley, kissing him with passionate abandon until their breathing settled, Aziraphale sat back on his heels “Slept well then, I take it?” but the blissful smile on his face gave away his true feelings.

Dopy with his own happy endorphins, Crowley grinned back “Despite you snoring in my ear all night, yeah.”

“You were already snoring *and* drooling on the pillow when I came to bed, I’ll have you know” Rising to his feet and offering Crowley a hand up “It’s oddly adorable, but I’m sure that will wear off eventually.”

(It doesn’t)

He turned the hot water back on and arched an eyebrow at his red headed lover “Are we going to run out of hot water before we finally get clean?”

Tipping a generous squirt of bodywash down Aziraphale’s chest, Crowley grinned “Dunno love, let’s find out…”

(Luckily for them, it didn’t)


	28. Bonus Coronavirus Chapter:  Caveat Emptor  (Let The Buyer Beware)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Aziraphale and Crowley go shopping....with entirely different outcomes....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******************************************************************
> 
> Seeing I made you all wait SO LONG for the smut chapter I decided to throw in a bonus one, but it took a little longer than anticipated. So here is the first half up as an Easter Bonus
> 
> Yes I did the annoying cliffhanger thing again :) Yell at me in the comments!  
> ******************************************************************

“C’mon Angel, let’s go out for lunch. M’starving….”

Blue eyes twinkled at him “Well, you did make me miss breakfast. It’s too hot to cook. Capital idea!”

Muttering “You never bloody cook anyway” partially under his breath, Crowley scooped up keys and sunglasses, ignoring Aziraphale’s tutting at his shocking pink Crocs. Yes, they were hideous, but comfortable and damn near indestructible.

They zipped smoothly along the country lanes, Crowley had found a lovely Italian place thirty odd minutes away, the aircon of the Bentley a pleasant change to the oppressive summer heat. Aziraphale chattered on, Crowley making noises in appropriate places but he wasn’t paying any attention.

Instead he was stealing glances at the man who was his friend and now his lover, wondering how the hell he had gotten so lucky. Life was a fickle mistress, he knew that only too well. So many things could have kept them apart, even after meeting under such coincidental circumstances, yet here they were.

His blood thrummed to the realisation he knew the taste of Aziraphale, from the hungry sweetness of his mouth, the delicate softness of his skin, the heady tang of salt and musk on Crowley’s tongue. He wanted to bury his face into the crook of his neck, breathing in that complex aroma of old books and citrus cologne that smelt like safe haven. 

_Driving on peripheral vision and instinct, the narrow country roads forcing him to a reasonable speed, Crowley lost himself in daydreams of waking up next to Aziraphale every morning. Of morning cuddles, slow sleepy kisses, planning their days, being able to reach out and touch him, kiss him……love him….._

A warm hand on his thigh interrupted his reverie with a gentle squeeze “Crowley?” and he picked Aziraphale’s hand up, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it, before releasing and turning with a smile “Sorry love, was miles away.”

“I could see that, spoke your name three times and you never heard me. What on earth were you thinking so hard about?”

Slowing for an upcoming intersection, he reached out and caressed Aziraphale’s jaw with the back of his fingers “Waking up next to you, Angel.”

With a sly grin, Aziraphale captured his hand, but instead of kissing it as Crowley expected, he slanted an entirely evil look sideways while sliding his mouth around two fingers, sucking them down with a hot wet swirl of tongue. Just as quickly he let them go, delicately wiping at the corners of his mouth in a fussy manner “A little something for the road, dearest. Mind the tree, if you will…”

Swearing as they swerved, narrowly avoiding the offending tree, both hands firmly on the wheel, Crowley growled out “You utter bastard.”

Pouting prettily and doing his best puppy dog eyes Aziraphale milked it for all he was worth “I’m starving and you promised me food. Needed to put….something…. in my mouth…”

Groaning as his cock announced its willingness to participate _, and immediately would do nicely, thankyou very much_ “I take it back, you are *such* a bitch!”

Sitting back with a satisfied smile, Aziraphale said “One does ones best.”

***********************************

The village had that quaint chocolate box look about it, old cottages behind hedges and gardens bursting with roses and foxgloves. Antique shops, a farmers market doing a brisk trade on the common, cheerful smiles and only the occasional raised eyebrow at their linked hands.

Despite Aziraphale complaints about being hungry, he lingered outside the window of one particular antique shop, wandered through the farmers market, chatting here and there with amiable conviviality. Crowley, in his dark glasses, pink crocs and flaming red hair received polite nods, until he dragged the protesting Aziraphale out of the crowd, in the direction of the restaurant.

“Never seen you so unwilling to eat, Angel.” He drawled sarcastically over Aziraphale’s complaints “Shops’ll be open on the way back, you can fuss to your heart’s content AFTER I’ve eaten.”

Making a mental note to feed Crowley more frequently, Aziraphale nodded “Sorry my darling, I do forget myself and lose track of time. Anathema would get quite cross at me about it.”

Crowley grinned toothily at him as they walked up the steps “Just remember Angel, it a long walk home if you go wandering off and don’t answer your bloody phone….”

Blushing at this reminder of his other annoying habit of setting his phone on silent and then forgetting about it, Aziraphale realised that Crowley *would* abandon him to teach him an important lesson. It was beginning to dawn on him that his self-isolating choices made it difficult for other people to connect with him. Hence reinforcing the isolation and feeding into his loneliness and lack of self esteem.

Resolving to do better, he filed that thought away for later when he had time to dissect it a bit further, and settled in to enjoy lunch.

***********************************************  
  
Sitting in the sunshine in the courtyard, Crowley enjoyed his favourite Salmon Tagliatelle with Lemon Sauce, while Aziraphale enthused over his Fettucine Carbonara, generously sprinkled with crisp bits of pancetta.

He allowed himself one glass of a crisp Riesling, which countered the richness of the pasta nicely. The garden salad could have done with a bit more balsamic and a little less oil, but the crunchy slices of radish added a peppery zing.

_Crowley had to admit that he enjoyed the country life, liked having access to a garden far more than he expected. It might not be so bad, a cottage somewhere, maybe some chickens, possibly a cat. Baking his own bread, foraging fruit for jams and preserves. Tempting his angel with sweet desserts, starting the day lingering over breakfast, stealing kisses and snuggles as the mood caught him._

When Aziraphale dropped his fork with a loud clatter, exclaiming while searching his pockets, Crowley had no idea what had got his angel so excited, but waited it out patiently.

_He loved how transparent Aziraphale was about his emotions, how his face showed every flicker of what he was feeling. Perhaps he was more relaxed around Crowley, but his total openness in expressing whatever he was thinking was…..endearing. His initial fragile guardedness had made way for genuine open smiles, and Crowley delighted in that particular twinkle when his angel indulged his inner bastard. Toxic masculinity affected men as much as anyone, when it came to emotional repression and channeling anger or fear into more productive outlets. It was one of the things he and Bee spent so much time working through, being young, angry, and in pain had caused him no end of grief._

“Blast it!” Fumbling with his phone, eventually finding whatever he was looking for, holding the phone to his ear “Anathema! Darling girl! How are you getting on with your research? Do you still need books?”

While Aziraphale and Anathema conversed, Crowley eventually said loud enough to interrupt “Tell Book Girl I said hello.”

“What? Oh Crowley says hello. Hmmm, yes we are having lunch, oh, alright…” he laid the phone down, pressing the screen “Go ahead my dear, you are on speaker.”

“Hey Edgelord” came Anathema’s amused American voice through the phone. Grinning Crowley replied in kind,

“Book Girl.”

“So…. You two together then….?”

Aziraphale, obviously not understanding the subtext replied “Having lunch my dear, yes just the two of us….”

Crowley cut in “Yeah, we are.”

“Oh” she replied with deep satisfaction “Bout bloody time. Dr F, email me the details about the books, sounds perfect. Newt misses you, by the way. You should come visit, I’m not going home for the summer holidays.”

Realising Aziraphale could likely witter on for ages, Crowley said “We’ll get back to you, ciao.” He cut the call and pushed the phone back to Aziraphale.

“Did I just hear you volunteer to buy the contents of the library and donate it to Book Girl’s research?”

“Yes, its perfect for her requirements. Such a rare opportunity for her!”

“What’s it gonna cost?”

Sitting back in his chair, sipping the last of his wine, Aziraphale smiled serenely “A mere trifle dearest. There are a few volumes that will go for a reasonable price on the market. My investment will not be wasted.”

Shrugging, trusting that his angel knew what he was about, Crowley called for the dessert menu. In the end they tried two and got the cheesecake and the tiramisu to take away for later. Crowley mercilessly used it as an excuse to force his angel to stop lollygagging about and let them head home.

“We can come back, get in angel, get innnnnnnnn.”

****************************************************

_Sometime later that evening Crowley makes a mental note that Tiramisu has biscuit crumbs……and should *not* be eaten off anyone’s ……anatomy…. while they are in bed._

_And how do you get coffee stains out of white sheets?_

_*************************************************_

**Late morning the next day**

Crowley was hanging out the sheets he had washed three times before giving up, Aziraphale had opted to sit in the shade of the front steps, basking in the cool concrete underneath him. The air already simmering with heat, cicadas buzzing but dark clouds were banking up behind the hills, with thunderstorms forecast for later. He hoped the rain would hold off until the washing was dry! _  
  
_

A flash of colour caught his eye, a cream and blue transit van wending its way down the long drive to the manor. A delivery van, by the International Express logo on the side, pulled to a halt in front of him. The driver hopped out, pulled a large brown box out of the back, approached Aziraphale

“Package for Crowley? Thought I would never find this place, got lost twice on the way….”

Startled, Aziraphale signed for it with an illegible scrawl on the driver’s clipboard, handing it back with a smile “Yes we are a bit off the beaten path, so to speak.”

“Nice digs though, cheerio!”

The box was not heavy so Aziraphale carefully carried it upstairs, setting it on the dining table for Crowley when he came back in. After waiting an impatient hour or so, curiosity now eating at him, he went in search of the package’s owner.

Slipping his shoes off, luxuriating in the feeling of grass underfoot, Aziraphale wandered through the gardens, thinking how nice it would be, to have this freedom year round. Suddenly the familiarity of his SoHo bookshop seemed constricting. He understood why Crowley had invaded with an army of greenery. He had unconsciously surrounded himself with a library of dead trees filled with words.

Aziraphale was one of those people who thought so hard and deeply that they completely lose all sense of the world around them. He was wandering aimlessly around the garden, having switched motor control to automatic. So, it took a while for his brain to register the sight that met him as he rounded the end of the tall hedge that lined one side of the vegetable garden.

Crowley was standing in the dirt, a bunch of vegetables in one grubby hand, toes buried deep in the loose soil. He was wearing a faded black tank top that said DTF on the front, a slightly battered oversized straw hat and his tight black underwear and black sunglasses.

 _Aziraphale had asked him what DTF had meant (assuming it was another music band he had never heard of), Crowley had brushed him off in such a way that it had piqued his curiosity. Instead he had text a query to Anathema. Who called him, rather breathlessly asked why he wanted to know, laughed at length and then explained. She had also pointed him in the direction of a website called Urban Dictionary._  
  
He had learned a great deal of surprising new things that day…..

Bending to collect another handful of leafy vegetables, Crowley broke into a wide grin, calling out “Hey Angel” and navigating his way carefully through the untended garden.

_He looked ridiculous and content at the same time, Aziraphale envied his easy comfort with his body, even though they were the only people for literal miles. He was pretty sure from the tan lines that Crowley had spent a bit of time outside in ONLY those designer briefs…._

“You hungry love? Sorry, got distracted, found some baby carrots and spinach under a cloche.” He put the veges on the grass, dusting soil off his hands “Thought I’d seen every possible expression on your face, but that one has me stumped….”

He looked down at himself and laughed ruefully “Yeah I look a bit daft.”

Aziraphale stepped forward, winding his arms around Crowley’s neck, pulling him in for an enthusiastic kiss “My darling you look like a complete snacc, and I’m starving…”

Returning the kiss with interest Crowley murmured back “Are you just….” He reached for the buttons on Aziraphale’s shirt, only to find his hands gently batted away.

“Lunch you idiot, dessert is for *after*.”

Pouting, Crowley sighed dramatically, flounced over to the veges, collected them, tossing the bunch of carrots showily over one shoulder, sighed again and flounced in the direction of the house “ ** _So_** demanding!”

Aziraphale’s voice interrupted his theatrics “Oh, a parcel arrived for you. Very mysterious. Where the hell are your pants?”

*******************************************************

Pants and lunch duly acquired, a delicious salad of honey glazed baby carrots, beetroot, feta , spinach, served with poached chicken breasts with a delicate lemon sauce, Aziraphale lounged on the sofa while he let lunch settle.

The sky was noticeably darker, mostly clouded over now with dark angry looking clouds looming on the horizon. Hoping that it would bring a cooler break in the weather, he made room for Crowley who slouched at the other end of the sofa, their bare legs leaning up against each other.

Yawning til his jaw cracked, the redhead nestled down into the cushions “Nap time?”

Azirphale smiled a little “Is that a ploy to get me into bed?”

Stretching artistically, with an entirely unsubtle roll of his hips, Crowley drawled huskily “Do I need one….?”

Pondering the choice between …..exercise or a nap, the brown cardboard corner poking out behind the dining table reminded him “Oh, you still haven’t opened your parcel!”

Rather surprisingly, Crowley blushed a deep glowing pink and wouldn’t quite meet his eyes “Uhhh maybe later?” Wondering what could possibly embarrass Crowley, he collected the box, plopping it down on the sofa then going in search of a knife to open it. Dropping it the lid, he sat on the end of the sofa, hands clasped in his lap, waiting with open expectation.

“You aren’t going to let it go, are you angel?”

Shaking his head Aziraphale replied “What would be so important that you would get it delivered all the way out here?”

Chewing on the inside of his lip Crowley reluctantly said “I did a little online shopping yesterday, paid for priority delivery.” He pushed the box over “Might as well open it, s’for both of us.”

Carefully slicing through the packing tape, Aziraphale opened the box, stared down into the contents for a long moment. He shifted the box onto the floor, and slowly laid out a selection of brightly coloured dildos in various sized, a sleek black buttplug, a mysterious square black box with njoy embossed in silver on the lid. A pump bottle of lube, several black silk storage bags and some cleaning fluid, an assortment of condoms and a packet of cleaning wipes were also included. He left those in the box.

At the bottom were two more substantial dildos, one black with splashes of red and a flared base. The last was black, extremely realistic and nearly as wide as Aziraphale’s cock, but a little longer. Sitting in its shiny plastic packaging, it was heavy and he weighed it thoughtfully in one had before reaching for the last package in the box. A set of black leather cuffs, buckled shut and clipped together with a pair of double ended dog clips.

His fingers stroked the soft leather on the inside of the cuffs as he put them aside, looking down at the rather startling assortment of toys laid out on the sofa. He arched an eyebrow at the still blushing Crowley “Chocolates would have been sufficient, darling.”

“I…ummm…wanted to have something new, just for us.” He shrugged “Wasn’t sure what you liked, so…”

“Got some of your favourites and then had a little fun? Certainly, toys that are fluid bonded to us are a wise choice.”

He stood, held a hand up for his lover, hauling Crowley to his feet “It’s a lovely gift. Why don’t we unpack everything, wash it properly and you can explain what half of these are for. I’m a little out of date…” He frowned at the black butt plug, reading the packaging “Wireless remote?”

Realising now was *not* the time to enlighten Aziraphale about phone apps for sex toys, Crowley laughed “Keep telling you technology has its benefits. Might convert you after all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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	29. Boys and their Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrying on from our last chapter where a mysterious box is opened and the contents revealed.....conversations are had, toys are explored....and a good time had by all :)
> 
> ***CW for a bit of light dom/sub interaction (fully consensual) and pain***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***************************************************************************  
> Bonus Coronavirus Smut Chapter 2 - and this one got LONG 5k + words so I hope it was worth the wait :)
> 
> Thanks to my new Beta @malorkai for her insights and comma wrangling :) This is a much better chapter as a result of her feedback.
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> I've also added a new comment guideline from the Long Live Feedback Project - I like the idea of having some guidance around comments as some people are uncertain what to leave - ALL COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED but not expected.
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> ***********************************************************************

As the two of them unpackaged everything (keeping the instructions to be read later), Aziraphale, asking an endless series of questions which initially had Crowley nervous. But as his lover began to reveal elements of his past experience in the way he phrased the questions, Crowley calmed down….a bit.

He knew Aziraphale was no virgin, but they hadn’t really ….talked…. about their history, what they did and didn’t like. As Aziraphale continued with his cheerfully relentless line of questioning, it dawned on Crowley that there was no way he could divert the flow of subjects away from THAT particular conversation, so he got out two glasses and a bottle of wine.

_ Talking about sex didn’t bother him at all, could do it all day, no problemo. But talking about what he really wanted, asking for that one thing he sometimes craved…..it required an implicit trust he had rarely found in other partners. _

_ He knew that level of trust was there between Aziraphale and himself — that was just the problem. Aziraphale was an enigma he’d not entirely figured out yet; the gentle, prim and straight-laced angel who could 180 into a total bastard on a whim. Crowley couldn’t risk putting himself out there like that, uncertain which side of Aziraphale would ultimately win the battle of morals that his request might spark. How could he possibly expect his angel to understand? _

********************************************

Watching Crowley pour the wine, Aziraphale noted he seemed tense, pouring a little too much wine too fast, and splashing some on the countertop. Although he handed the glass to Aziraphale with a smile, when he leaned his hips back against the counter, the redhead lacked his usual lazy slouch. One hand gripped the edge so tightly his knuckles showed white.

Given he had purchased enough sex toys for an orgy, Aziraphale was quite certain that they weren’t the cause of his lover’s stress. Perhaps something else….they hadn’t had The Talk as yet….what secret or desire could possibly make someone like Crowley….uncomfortable?

He could see the normal façade of careless bravado cracking open, showing a nervous vulnerability that Aziraphale wanted to hold close, cherish and protect. 

_ He nattered on, deliberately obtuse, dropping hints as to his own background. One of his past lovers had been quite experimental, back when Aziraphale was young enough to enjoy the underground kink scene. They weren’t sympatico enough for the trust needed to fully explore that side of the relationship, but he needed Crowley to know that he wasn’t totally vanilla. Sometimes the only way out is through…. _

Cradling the wineglass for a moment in thought, he sipped, paused and said with no introduction, “My hard limits are ageplay, watersports, bloodsports, scat, edgeplay and I’m not into pain or humiliation.”

Crowley inhaled his mouthful, choked and coughed, spraying a fine mist of wine everywhere as he leaned forward, waving off Aziraphale’s efforts to help, while he noisily gulped air into his abused system. He let Aziraphale clean up the mess, giving him something to do other than hover apologetically.

When his breathing settled again, head down while he rested his hands on his thighs, Crowley said hoarsely “Jesus Christ Aziraphale, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Myocardial infarction dearest, and no, of course not.”

Straightening, brushing hair off his flushed face, Crowley snagged his wine for a healthy swig “You can’t just say things like that, without warning!”

Blue eyes twinkled back at him mischievously “Why not? They are just words?”

Choosing to not answer that, Crowley leaned forward and swiped Aziraphale’s much fuller wine glass in one hand, snaffled the three black silk bags off the counter with the other and strode in the direction of the bedroom, muttering darkly the entire time.

_ Taking a moment to top up the abandoned wine glass well past the socially acceptable limit, Aziraphale smiled and rolled his eyes at the redhead’s bratty behaviour. The ice was broken now, if he was careful and gentle, he could likely coax his reluctant lover to share at least some of what was bothering him. They had time, after all. _

*****************************************************

Crowley had face planted on the bed, silk bags deposited on the nearest nightstand next to his wine glass. One arm reached to the floor and was scrolling on his phone, while he made odd noises in response to what he was reading.

When Aziraphale dropped the small black box and his wineglass on the nightstand, Crowley muttered “Seriously? What the FUCK?”

Collecting some extra pillows from where they had been tossed by an offended Crowley (who needs decorative fucking pillows on a bed that people actually sleep in!!), Aziraphale walked round the other side of the bed, made a nest and lay down, reclining in comfort.

“Pass me the wine would you, dearest?” He placed the proffered glass on his nightstand, then wrapped an arm around the redhead, who had cuddled up against his chest. Sliding his fingers into the soft tresses, he began stroking the tight muscles at the nape with soft soothing fingertips.

“Mmmmmm s’good angel.”

He increased the pressure slightly until he felt Crowley begin to relax into it, asking gently “What were you cursing at on your phone?”

“Grown men in nappies! Looked up ageplay, hadn’t heard of it before. Definitely not something I want to try.”

“Well we are on the same page there, darling boy. May I ask some questions about your presents?”

“You’ve got all the instructions, angel, not sure I can add anything?”

Working his fingers with smooth strength over Crowley’s scalp, lulling him to relax, he said lightly “Oh no, I wanted to know why you chose those particular toys? I assume some are personal favourites….?”

Crowley shrugged, rolling over to give Aziraphale access to his temples with both hands, groaning in bliss “God I love feeling your hands on me angel.”

_ It had taken him a while to realise that Crowley was very touch deprived, Aziraphale didn’t crave physical contact in the same way, but he delighted in giving his lover what he needed. It was no hardship…..and the benefits were well and truly worth the investment. _

Working with small circles around the jaw hinge, Aziraphale grinned “Just my hands…..?”

“Fishing for compliments, love?”

“One does like to be appreciated, now and then.”

Crowley grabbed one hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to his knuckles before letting go “Next time you want dessert in bed, I’ll remember that…”

Blushing at the memory of the mess they had made Aziraphale reached down and gently tweaked one nipple through the worn tank top fabric, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding answering my question…”

_ He noticed the faint gasp and shudder as he caressed the pert nipple, giving it another gentle squeeze…..hmmmm…. _

_ They had been so hungry to get their hands and mouths on each other the last few days, Aziraphale realised they hadn’t taken the time to…explore….each other. He began to see the appeal of some of the toys Crowley had acquired, there were many paths to pleasure, if one was prepared to take their time… _

_ ********************************************* _

Pillowing his head snugly into Aziraphale’s stomach, Crowley closed his eyes and blissed out a bit under the deft touch of his angel’s hands. As one hand caressed his nipple he murmured, “I like where you are going with this angel.”

Aziraphale snorted softly “We could play chess with the army of dildo’s you acquired” but his hand drifted over to attend to the other nipple. Gentle pinches that made Crowley's breath catch and pulse skip  _ he was tempted to roll over and speed things up, but he sensed Aziraphale had something slower in mind….and he wasn’t one to pass up any opportunity to indulge his angel. _

“Welllll….” He drawled, “We…..could…..”

“Or, you could answer my question.” Both hands drifted back to softly stroking through Crowley’s hair while Aziraphale continued “I know we haven’t really talked about this, and it feels like something is bothering you.”

He paused and the silence built. “Sometimes we want things that we feel embarrassed about, or ashamed of. But if there is trust and openness, then what goes on between two consenting adults is no one's business but their own.”

_ Crowley tensed under the soothing fingers, Aziraphale had guessed the heart of his issue, but it still didn’t negate the fact that it was something he was going to have to say…out loud. Some of his previous partners had guessed but for most it was nothing more than an occasional ‘thing’. _

Gently, Aziraphale continued “I trust you Crowley, more than that, I’m quite stupidly in love with you and I would never do anything to harm you. My darling, I hope one day you feel safe enough to share your needs with me…”

_ Time had seemingly frozen for Crowley as his brain processed the words “in love with you” and he could hear his pulse literally pounding through his body, breath rasping in and out. He struggled to both sit up and roll over, managing a graceless sprawl across Aziraphale’s chest. _

Luminous blue eyes smiled into his slightly shocked ones “Oh, darling, I’ve surprised you. Sshhhh Sshhh you don’t need to say anything.” He brushed his thumb in a featherlight touch across Crowley’s lips “I love you, Anthony J. Crowley, even if I don’t know what the J stands for.”

Mumbling “Just a J really” as he hoisted himself up, taking a long moment to imprint the vision of this gorgeous man smiling up at him, who had to bravely lay his soul bare there between them.

_ Knowing what he did of the trauma that Aziraphale had grown up with, this guileless trust and yes, love, was a priceless gift. One he could honour by returning the favour. _

“Crowley” said Aziraphale, pausing to pout adorably “Why aren’t you kissing me?”

“Special moment, wanted to remember it….”

“Oh…” Aziraphale’s expression softened and he smiled winsomely up at Crowley “How romantic. I had my suspicions…”

“Aziraphale. Please stop talking.” Resignation mixed with fond affection as he laid his palm with a gentle caress on one soft cheek.

Turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of Crowley’s wrist, Aziraphale grinned wickedly up at the redhead kneeling above him “Make me…” 

_ Tenderly, Crowley let his body speak the words he had yet to say, kissing his angel with deliciously slow soft kisses, tracing the line of his jaw, gentle lingering kisses down the line of his throat, languid passionate kisses that teased on the edge of hungry and demanding. Kisses that said *I love you, I want you, I need you, can you feel it? What you do to me?* _

_ As Aziraphale sighed and gasped under his loving onslaught, Crowley decided he could get to like this Death By A Thousand Kisses approach. If Aziraphale felt the same way he did, hopefully they might have the rest of their lives together. _

With one last kiss to the end of his angel's cute nose, Crowley turned, made a long arm and grabbed the black silk bags. Sitting up and crossing his legs, he laid out the contents, arranging them in the end by colour. On the left were the bright pink, pale blue and purple toys, and three dramatically black toys sat off to the right. There was a significant size difference as well, the coloured ones were what one might consider ‘average sized’ for a given value of average.

There was nothing average about the black toys, they were large, luxurious and a bit daunting. In the middle Crowley placed the square box, putting the cuffs with the other black toys. On opening the box, laid on a bed of shocking pink satin was a shiny metal artistically sculpted butt plug.

(Lube, condoms and wipes had been stashed in one bedside drawer already.)

Fanning his hands out like a magician revealing his secrets, Crowley grinned at Aziraphale whose curious fingers were already reaching out “Take your pick, angel.”

Fortunately for Crowley’s peace of mind, the coloured toys were assessed with clinical detachment, assessing the weight, texture of the material, give and overall tactile experience. 

“These colours are so much nicer than the nasty flesh coloured ones. So dreadfully tacky! Lovely soft feel to them.” He brought one rich plum-coloured one up to his nose, essayed a quick sniff and with a sideways glance at the redhead, stuck his tongue out for a taste, “Mmmmm I see what you mean about the benefits of technology, darling.”

Abruptly grateful he was wearing loose cargo pants, capable of little more than a “Ngk” in reply, watching a little trepidation as Aziraphale put aside the coloured toys, reaching for the square box.

“Oh, it's heavier than I expected!” He lay the extremely shiny metal butt plug out on one palm, inspecting it from all angles. “I’ve never used a metal toy before, is it nice?”

_ How the fuck was he supposed to just sit there while Aziraphale ……. fondled everything? He was pretty sure he could feel parts of his brain literally shutting down as the blood rushed south at a rate that was making him a little dizzy. This was a terrible idea, he should have just brought a couple out at a time, not been a bloody show off….. _

“Dunno angel, it was shiny, got great reviews. Looked like fun.”

_ How did he say he had been dying to try one out for ages, but hadn’t bothered getting one because it seemed a bit pointless just for him. How fucking sad was that? _

Placing the toy back in its box and putting aside, Aziraphale reached for the last pile of black toys. The cuffs were put aside and he picked up the buttplug with the wireless remote, carefully pressing the buttons, and working through some of the patterns and speeds. He turned a questioning eyebrow to Crowley who shrugged.

“Lots of fun to be had with that. Could go out for dinner, slip that in, hand the remote over. All kinds of possibilities…”

A slight blush tinted his angel’s cheeks, “In public?” he sounded slightly scandalised.

Crowley smirked at him, “S’not the first time, I’m guessing, angel?”

The blush got quite becomingly pink “I was a lot younger then. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Wondering how drunk I have to get you to hear *those* stories?”

With an annoyed huff, Aziraphale reached for the last two toys. The black and red dildo with the oddly flared base and the very large and quite realistic dildo that sat heavy in his hand. Pursing his lips for a moment, he looked at Crowley with that familiar twinkle “Bit of a size queen I see, darling.”

Amber eyes grew wide in shock, and he reached for Aziraphale who rolled over with a giggle “You….call me a queen, you bloody great pansy!”

His attempts to wrestle Aziraphale into submission were thwarted by his angel’s strategic response of kissing him any time he got within reach. Proving remarkably effective within minutes, toys were discarded in favour of peeling off each other's clothes, kissing and touching wherever they could reach.

***********************************************

_ Later Crowley would swear he only had the one glass of wine, but he could never recall exactly how he had ended up like this…. Both wrists encased in soft black leather, tied to the rails of the bedstead with two monogrammed handkerchiefs……loose enough to allow him to grip the bars as he writhed under the exquisitely slow torment that was Aziraphale’s experimentation with the remote for the buttplug…. _

BZZZZT “FUCK! YELLOW!! Jesus!” gasping with relief as the stimulation reduced, he cracked open one eyelid “M’mm not a toy angel. Experiment some other time, hey?”

“Oh my darling, you’ve been so good while I have indulged myself. Here….” he twiddled with the remote and it settled into a low rumbling rrrrrmmmmm rrrrrmmmmm that was quite pleasant, “I think you quite liked this one, hmm?”

Hands gripping the twisted wrought iron bedstead for leverage, Crowley arched his back, rolling his hips in open invitation “C’mon angel, untie me. Wanna play too…”

_ He wasn’t expecting the rather possessive way Aziraphale looked him up and down, slowly, deliberately, before crawling over, staring down at him with a disconcertingly smug grin….One finger slowly made its way over Crowley’s chest, stopping to trace around his Adam’s apple before fingers lightly circled his throat with the lightest of squeezes…for just a moment too long…as his breath hitched in response, Aziraphale leaned forward to whisper in his ear… _

“But you are so delicious like this, my darling. Laid out like a banquet, for me to taste and touch…mmmmm” As one hand glided up to tangle in his hair, Crowley moaned at the onslaught of nibbling kisses down his neck, tilting his head up to give his angel better access.

_ Aziraphale’s body slid over his with delicious friction, nerves sparking as their cocks graze each other in passing, whimpering with the need to pull those teasing hips down, so they can grind together…the combination of sensations – the pull on his wrists, the steady thrum up his arse, his lover’s body tantalisingly close – reduced him to begging “Angel….please…” _

That voice, like warm butterscotch sauce murmured again, “Such a good boy, I think you like this, letting go? Is this what you need?”

As one nipple was firmly tweaked between finger and thumb, while the other was tongued and sucked, Crowley lost the ability to form words, arching into the touch with shuddering moans. Aziraphale gently teased him with increasing pressure, until it teetered on the knife edge of pleasurepain, and his hips bucked up in demand, “Fuck, angel, ahhhh….god….yes, like that”

_ Ah….fuck….the buzzing pattern changed to a slightly shorter faster one, likely to make him come, if only he could get that sinfully delicious mouth on his achingly hard cock… _ _ The bedhead creaked under the pressure he was exerting, rocking his hips in urgent demand, down to feel the toy buzz in just the ‘right’ place, up to seek the friction he so desperately needed… _

“Oh god…please angel…I’m begging you…”

“It’s music to my ears, what do you need, Crowley?”

_ Fingertips drift with seemingly careless intent down his ribs, following the line of his hip, stroking the inside of his thigh, ticklish teasing touches, coupled with the tongue flicking his nipples…It was driving him wild that he was at Aziraphale’s mercy… _

He parted his legs in open invitation, causing Aziraphale to draw back, slide down and begin caressing up and down his trembling thighs, “You looked like this the day we met, on your back, dishevelled, swearing like a sailor and so beautiful. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The feel of your skin haunted my fingertips, I barely touched you yet suddenly my world was different. You made it brighter, better.”

Wide palms slid up until thumbs were kneading the delicate skin next to his balls. Crowley whined high and pretty “Touch me angel…..please….don’t, I’m begging you, don’t make me wait…”

_ He hoped Aziraphale would notice the edge of honest desperation and stop teasing him…. _

“I’ve been unkind my love, it's so gratifying to see you like this, forgive me….”

_ Shaking under the pent up tension his body was under, moaning and arching up into Aziraphale’s touch as he slid one slick hand around the base of Crowley’s cock. Inhaling at the sudden shocking pleasure of that mouth, tongue working with practised ease “Jesus Fuck…your mouth…angel……ahhhh…harder…faster….oh god YES! HARDER!” _

_ Fisted in a punishing grip, delicious sucking friction on his cock head, Crowley hung on the very brink “Oh god…angel….I’m so close……ahhh….” Nothing mattered in that moment than his driving need to crash over the edge. Suddenly he felt the buttplug pull out and in, the merest amount, but just enough to …… “OH FUCK YES!!!” With a throaty “Fuuuuuuuucccccck” he came fiercely hard, trembling with quaking aftershocks as he sprawled in languid release. _

Aziraphale quickly released his wrists, removing the buttplug, wrapping it in wipes to be dealt with later, murmuring the entire time “Oh you did so well, my darling, being so good for me, are you alright? Anything hurting?” He sat back between Crowley's spread legs and smiled in satisfaction “You look absolutely wrecked.”

Still short of breath, sweat cooling on his skin, easing his complaining shoulders, Crowley laughed, gesturing for Aziraphale to pass him the wine. Soothing his dry throat, he handed the glass back to his angel who swigged a mouthful and put it aside.

“Fuck that was amazing angel, but now it’s my turn, yeah?”

Crowley slid down the bed, hooking his legs behind Aziraphale to pull him forward til he was in range for a slow deep ardent kiss. . Sliding one down between them to stroke Aziraphale’s impressive cock, smiling at the gasping groan as he twisted the palm of his hand over the revealed cockhead, nuzzling up under his jaw, and down his neck

When another swirl of his hand had Aziraphales hips twitching forward, one hand clinging to Crowley's shoulder as he ground down into those adept fingers, “Oh that feels….divine…don’t stop…”

“Hang on love, give me a sec” with an apologetic kiss, Crowley squirmed backwards, stacked up the pillows behind him, scooting back and spreading his legs wide. Patting the spot in front of him, he grinned, “Sit that gorgeous arse of yours down, that way I can reach properly.”

With some clambering of assorted limbs, complicated by Aziraphale’s sudden need to kiss with fervent enthusiasm, they ended up with Aziraphale’s wide back tucked hard up against Crowley’s chest. Crowley’s long arms easily wrapped around, roaming with tender caresses that had his angel pressing back, head tilted to accept the worship of Crowley’s mouth, both words and kisses.

“Can’t believe I get to touch you like this angel, look at you. Giving off harmless professor vibes, underneath that soft prim exterior you’re a hard bastard…”

He let his fingers drift lower, “Oooh you *are* hard…maybe I can do something about that..” Making a long arm for a squirt of lube, gliding it on with a soft touch that had his lover straining forward, seeking more friction.

“Don’t be a tease, darling…..oh, oh yes…..” Aziraphale moaned as long fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, gentle but firm yet holding still.

Crowley’s husky dark chocolate and whisky voice murmured, “Show me what you like, angel. Teach me.”

“….How?”

“Put your hand on mine. You’re in control, show me, tell me what you need.” Crowley essayed a slow up and down glide “Harder, faster, slower…that’s all you have to say.”

Aziraphale’s wide hand covered his; fingers settling into the grooves of his knuckles. “You like it when I tell you what to do? Ahh a little tighter, hard on the upstroke, softer on the down.”

Crowley purred, “Yes angel, tell me what you like, so I can give it to you…”

Carefully they figured out a rhythm that soon had Aziraphale clinging to Crowley’s knees with both hands, rocking his hips into the unrelenting tempo, “Oh god….oh please, faster my darling…ahhhh!”

_ Crowley marvelled at how enthusiastically his angel indulged himself in life’s pleasures. Good food, fine wine, and a fantastic handjob, by all accounts. It was delightful to see his normally buttoned down angel absolutely intent on relishing every possible moment….what could he do to up the ante….? _

“Look at you, taking my hand so well, absolutely shameless…..c’mon angel, fuck my fist…ahhhh……that gorgeous cock of yours…..so thick I can feel the burn, how will you fuck me angel? Nice and slow or hard and fast….Hmmm?”

_ He could tell by Aziraphale’s scattered breathing and straining body that he was close…..sweat glistened over his lush body, his blond head lolling back on Crowley’s shoulder but he managed to gasp out “Don’t want to hurt you” before relapsing into breathy moans “Ahhh….yes….God……don’t….don’t stop…” _

Ignoring the muscles beginning to cramp in his hand, Crowley shifted his grip in a way that reduced Aziraphale to incoherent vowel sounds, purring “Maybe I want you to, angel. Just a little, just enough….leave me debauched and so well fucked I can’t stand up afterwards.”

Aziraphale was gasping, fingers likely leaving bruises on his knees, as the tension between them ratcheted even higher. Crowley kept up his filthy commentary.

“Can’t wait to ride you, ah fuck I get hard just thinking about it….wanna see your face when you come….fill me up with your blessed sacrament until my cup runneth over…..”

With a hoarse groan Aziraphale came, shuddering to a trembling conclusion. “Ah love, I’ve got you” Crowley softly worked him through it, til they lay back, breath rasping and just collapsed for a long moment. Finding the wipes he cleaned them both up and gently nudged his exhausted angel to the side.

“Fuck” said Aziraphale shakily.

Crowley stretched his shoulders and arms, working out the kinks, before slithering over to press a kiss to one pale shoulder

“Next time” said Crowley but a soft snore was his only reply. Tugging the light comforter over the both of them, he snuggled down and followed his angel into a well earned nap.

*********************************************************

After a good sleep, a hot shower (which involved Crowley demonstrating the suction cup feature on the black and red dildo) another poached chicken salad for dinner, they were on their second bottle of wine.

The storm had broken while they were sleeping, the air fresh and soft, the garden rainwashed and shimmering in the golden hour light. They had thrown the balcony doors open, Crowley leaning on his elbows on the railing, wineglass dangling precariously from one hand. Aziraphale was lounging on the rattan sofa, nestled in throw pillows but the book he claimed to be reading was sitting face down on his lap. 

It was a peaceful scene, and Crowley was counting his blessings that they had stolen away from the world and managed to lose themselves in each other. It seemed too good to last, and was musing on how things might change when they went back to reality.

_ Would Aziraphale still desire him? Want the kind of relationship Crowley wanted? Long term….maybe….permanent….? _

He jumped as the wineglass was carefully put aside to a safer place, he snaked an arm around Aziraphales’s shoulders, pressing a kiss into his hair, “Sorry love, was miles away.”

His angel sighed and snuggled into Crowley’s chest, making a pleased hum as long arms draped themselves over his shoulders. “It’s alright dear, I was deep in thought myself.”

“Mmmm?”

“You said something….before….that I wanted to ask you about. But it’s a bit personal….”

Crowley laughed gently and swayed the two of them, “Had my cock in your mouth, angel. Hard to get much more personal.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the back of one freckled hand, “Yes and no, my dear, but I still wanted to ask….”

“Go on then, s’alright.”

“Well, we talked about your …. wanting to give up control….on occasion…”

“We did, never seen you blush so …fetchingly….”

_ It had begun as a rather awkward conversation for the both of them but Aziraphale had quickly realised what Crowley was obliquely asking for. Guiding the conversation towards a discussion of boundaries, safewords and the colour system had put them both on the same page. Seeing the relief in his lover's face as his needs were calmly considered and clarified bought a quiet joy to Aziraphale. That this beautiful man would put such trust in him.....it was a gift to be treasured. _

“Quite….I just wasn’t expecting you to ask me for that, although the handcuffs made it pretty obvious.”

“Does it bother you?” Crowley rested his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder “Not your thing?”

“Actually…I think I quite liked it, but only because it was you. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah it does angel, but you still haven’t asked me anything. Are we heading in the direction of the point any time soon?”

Aziraphale sighed and leaned back into Crowley’s embrace. _It was still a heady experience to casually touch his angel like this, and Crowley hoped it was a joy that never faded, so long as they were together._

“Do you want me to hurt you…sometimes?”

“What?” Crowley wasn’t expecting that, he was genuinely surprised.

“When we …. make love…. I said I didn’t want to hurt you, and you said…”

“Maybe I want you to. I know you can say fuck, I’ve heard you. God, how do you even remember that….?”

“Will you tell me what you meant?”

This time it was Crowley’s turn for the long silence. They stood wrapped in each other as the shadows darkened as the sun disappeared behind the distant hills.

_ Twilight, that time between times, when the night creatures stir as the day creatures retreat to the comfort of their safe spaces. A time for whispered secrets and heartfelt confessions… _

“Sometimes….I need something more — to walk the line between pleasure and pain, sometimes step over the edge, just a little. I don’t want you to hurt me as such…but….”

_ They were so wrapped around each other, Aziraphale could feel the tension vibrating in Crowley’s frame as he spoke, heard the faintest tremble in his voice…sensed how reluctant he was to admit to this…what many people would see as something shameful. He needed to reassure his lover he was on board…up to a point. _

“Give you the opportunity to make the choice?”

Crowley exhaled in surprised relief, “Yeah…hadn’t thought about it like that but yeah, angel.”

Aziraphale stepped forward and turned so they were face to face, lifting one hand to cradle Crowley’s cheek, brushing a thumb softly across his parted lips, “When you need it, tell me you need to ‘walk the line’, does that work for you, my darling?”

_ Staring down into that beloved pair of blue eyes, Crowley felt something deep down inside unravel, like a knot finally came undone. He was filled with such a feeling of warmth and relief, it overflowed up his throat, washing away any words of reply he might have been able to form.  _

Instead he leaned forward to kiss his angel, soft, slow and deep, trying to express the feeling that he couldn’t yet put into meaningful words. Aziraphale seemed to sense his intent, kissing him back with refined eloquence.

“I love you, so much, Aziraphale,” he whispered against those sublime lips, and he felt them smile in return.

“Crowley my darling, I utterly adore you too.” Night had fallen into true darkness, the light from inside illuminating Aziraphale’s face as he grinned wickedly, taking Crowley’s hand to lead him inside.

“Take me to bed, darling boy, I believe it's my turn with the buzzy thing.”

“God you are a menace, angel.”

“Oh, that reminds me, next time you place an order, I want a ball gag and some rope.”

“You wot?” Crowley stumbled to a halt, eyes wide open in surprise.

Aziraphale turned back to him, arched one eyebrow in his most bastard expression, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it off and throwing it at his stunned lover.

“Only if you are a very very good boy…” he backed away slowly, caressing his chest with his hands, making small moaning noises as he tweaked his nipples.

With a throaty growl, Crowley ripped off his t-shirt, strode forward, flicking off the lights on the way past, “And if I’m not….?”

Aziraphale had disappeared down the dark hallway but his voice reached out, drawing Crowley in like an irresistible siren’s song…..

“Come to me, my gorgeous flame haired lover….let us strive valiantly against each other….only in submission will you be victorious!”

_ Later, when Crowley lay limp, trembling and basking in some truly delicious afterglow, he realised he now understood what Aziraphale had meant. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>   
> 
> 
>   * Feedback
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
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> This author does her best to reply to comments (not always immediately due to timezones)
> 
> _If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (perhaps you feel shy), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!_


	30. The Real World Beckons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real world intrudes on their happy countryside retreat. Both have to face up to their responsibilities, as adults, and as partners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **************************************************************************  
> A transitional chapter, things are about to get interesting. Warning for impending angst!  
> ***************************************************************************

Aziraphale groaned and shoved his head under a pillow when Crowley’s phone beeped at a distressingly early time of the morning. Crowley left him with a soft kiss on the shoulder and a murmured “Sorry love, no rest for the wicked.”

He drifted off to sleep halfway through forming a clever response.

******************************************  
Scrubbing at his face with one hand, still mostly asleep, Crowley cleaned his teeth, tied his hair back and shaved while the water in the shower heated to his preferred temperature of nearly scalding.

Enjoyable as his impromptu sex holiday with Aziraphale had been, he was still obliged to complete his contract and there was a lot of work left to do. He suspected the American was going to be somewhat unhappy with his refusal to take on this renovation. His final task was to provide compelling evidence to back up his reasoning, and that was going to take research. He was going to have to call in a few favours from some contractors with specific expertise in houses of this era.

Anticipating a day of phonecalls, emails and frustration, he opted for breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast and a seriously strong black coffee. Collecting his phone and laptop and car keys, whistling softly he headed downstairs to the waiting Bentley.

“Hello gorgeous” he said cheerfully, as he stowed his stuff in the passenger seat “Miss me? Let’s go for a good long drive, Daddy’s got some thinking to do.”

Smiling at the throaty purr of the engine, feeling the expensive leather of the steering wheel in his grip, Crowley settled his sunglasses firmly and grinned “C’mon darlin, lets blow some cobwebs out first, hmm?”

Accompanied by the heavy bass blasting out of the speakers, they ventured forth to scare the living daylights out of the locals. Crowley alternated between singing very off key, swearing at the speed limit abiding drivers getting in his way and yelling at his phone. By the time lunchtime rolled around, he had clocked up a reasonable distance, narrowly avoided causing three accidents and got a surprising amount of his To Do list done.

Needing fuel for himself and the car, he headed towards the nearest form of civilisation aka Bath, found a park, wandering around looking for a late lunch spot. He had yet to call Tracy and update her on …..The Situation….so to speak.

Remembering a cute French style bistro, he crossed the road, a medium rare eye fillet with a good redwine jus was just what he felt like, beans and broccoli steamed and served swimming in garlic butter and duchesse potatoes. Fantastique!

**************************************************

Idly checking emails while he lingered over an excellent espresso, he noticed one from the Zuigiber heiress. Looks like she had decided to accept Aziraphale’s offer to buy her library contents, so he flicked it on. His thumb hovered over the Contacts button when his phone rang with a loud jangle of music.

“I was just about to call you.” He waved away the waiter and motioned for a second cup of coffee instead.

Tracy’s disbelieving snort was clearly audible “I know the phone reception is crappy, but not even an email? Did you forget you have a business to run?”

_He had forgotten, just for a few days and it had been…….such a relief, to not have to be responsible for everything in his world._

“Sorry Trace, just been a bit …..busy lately.”

Her voice softened “Ah love, you work too hard. No harm to take a break, enjoy the country air. Don’t worry, we have everything under control. Just wanted to see how you were?”

“Well I’m definitely not taking the job, so you will need to activate the Out Clauses, and probably prep the solicitors, just in case.”

“Okay, I’ve put you on speaker love, talk me through the issues and we will get started.” Her keyboard rattled like gunfire as she took notes, and they talked business for several minutes while he worked his way through the second coffee.

Crowley handed his credit card to the silent waiter, signed the bill, talking with one shoulder pressed to his ear but nearly dropped the phone when Tracy asked “How’s that Professor of yours then?”

“Aziraphale?....well….he’s…um…well he’s here actually.”

“In Bath?”

“Yeah kinda, he’s with me….at the Manor. Doing book stuff. Library stuff.”

_There was a bit of a pause while Tracy got up and did a victory dance in front of her desk._

“So you’re ‘together’ then?” and even he could hear the air quotes.

Finally he could let out the happy smile that pasted itself on his face whenever he thought about them together “Yeah, we are.”

“Oh Crowley love, are you happy?” _There was a genuine warmth and caring in the question. Tracy knew enough of his history and some of his secrets, understood how he felt about commitment. There is a difference between being alone and lonely. For a long time he had thought he had understood it, but the possibility of a future with Aziraphale made him realise he didn’t want to be either, anymore._

It was a big question, and one he wasn’t quite sure how to answer, because what he felt was bigger than happy “As close as I’ve ever been I think. He’s…well…he’s bloody wonderful, actually.”

“Good, you deserve some wonderful in your life. Tell me, can he suck a golf ball through ten feet of garden hose? I can give him some pointers if you like?”

_Her ability to drop clangers like that into the conversation, all casual like, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to say played into the British polite psyche all to well. Most people paused for a long moment before soldiering on regardless, but Crowley was long past that._

Crowley cracked up laughing “Oh god, please please let me watch that conversation. I would pay good money, we could sell tickets!”

Tracy laughed merrily “I’m going to take that as a yes then, well you take all the time you need. Enjoy yourselves.”

“Thanks love, will call you in a couple of days for a proper catchup. Make sure those overpaid deviants are hanging around pretending to earn their keep, yeah?”

“Will do Crowley, just one more thing…”

“Mmmmm?”

“Next time you buy several hundred pounds of sex toys, can you use your personal credit card? Will give the auditors a heart attack! Toodleoo, lots to do! Ta ta!”

Crowley stared at his phone for a long moment “Fuck!”

_She had known all along, played him well truly. He was losing his edge. Time to call his solicitor again. He topped off the Bentley’s tank, and they hit the road while he wrangled calls with his solicitor and accountant._

******************************************************  
  
Tracy sat back in her chair, eyes bright with merriment as she giggled. It wasn’t often she got one over her razor sharp lad, so it was an experience to be savoured. Likely he was already plotting his revenge, but it would be worth it.

Warlock looked up from his iPad, flicking long black hair off his face “Overpaid deviants?” he muttered in mock outrage but the smile on his face matched hers.

“Pfft” she waved a hand in dismissal “He’s called you worse to your face.”

“So exactly how much did *he* spend on sex toys?” Warlock drawled.

“More than you earn in a month, and that’s all you need to know” Tracy spoke primly but the smile on her face betrayed her delight.

“And he calls *us* the deviants!”

******************************************************

Aziraphale twitched in irritation as his phone chimed loudly, until he realised it was a message from Crowley. They had spent one rather frustrating evening setting his phone up so he could easily mute all notifications except the few people he wanted to hear from. It was a compromise, his habit of turning his phone off because the beeps annoyed him, then forgetting to turn it on again made communicating difficult. 

Crowley had threatened to correspond by written letters sent at the mercy of the Postal system. A threat dire enough to force Aziraphale to reluctantly agree to the redhead configuring the phone to suit both their requirements. He had to admit, it was much easier once someone had set everything up and just showed him how to achieve specific simple functions.

Opening the email picture, Crowley had forwarded a response from Ms Zuigiber which he scanned quickly, then read much more slowly. She had accepted his offer, pending a valuation of the books worth something in the current market to verify his offered price.

Aziraphale smiled, he had offered above market value, he could afford it and it was a rare opportunity for Anathema to get her hands on exactly what she needed to pursue her studies. Plus, if he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be too out of pocket in the end.

Carefully he figured out how to forward the email to Anathema, typing in “Good news dear girl, give me a call to discuss when you have a moment.”

_Idly he noted how late it was, wondered when Crowley would be home. It was unlike him to be out all day._

Dinner time came and went with no sign of a familiar redhead, Aziraphale assembled some food, noting the fridge was looking a little bare. An hour or so later the door downstairs banged, Crowley lumbered his way up the stairs, depositing several shopping bags of food on the bench. He put away the perishables in the fridge, dropped a quick kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek “Sorry love, long day, knackered” before disappearing down the hall to the bedroom.

Left feeling oddly adrift, Aziraphale stood for a moment, wondering what had happened, before unpacking and putting away the rest of the groceries. By the time he made it to bed, Crowley was face down, snoring loudly into his pillow.

**************************************************************  
  
The rest of the week continued in a similar pattern, Crowley up uncharacteristically early, returning in time to prepare dinner, but falling asleep on the sofa shortly afterwards. Once his laptop slid sideways off his lap, fortunately surviving the impact with the floor. Aziraphale had glimpsed a spreadsheet full of numbers on the screen, which he plugged in so it didn’t lose any unsaved work.

Twice he had gone to bed leaving Crowley sprawled on the sofa, and once the redhead slept on it all night. By Friday Aziraphale was getting rather concerned, they had barely seen each other and Crowley had been so absorbed in his work, they had hardly talked either.  
  
More distressingly, they hadn’t …..touched…..each other, beyond a few absent minded kisses and some sleepy cuddles. Aziraphale was feeling frustrated, on several levels. Now his libido had been awakened, it was not pleased about being left unattended. He found himself eyeing up the draw full of toys with ….. intentions, should events continue much longer.  
  
************************************************

Antsy and genuinely worried that he hadn’t heard from Crowley in hours, Aziraphale left his phone face down while he fretfully cleaned and tidied. It gave him something to keep his hands and brain occupied instead of worrying.

_His thoughts kept circling around, wondering what he might have done or said to have upset Crowley. Perhaps this was just how he was when focussed on work and it was nothing to do with Aziraphale at all. It was the not knowing that ate away at his self control, yet when he tried to objectively analyse the situation, other than working too hard, Crowley wasn’t behaving really any different._

_Aziraphale couldn’t fight the nagging feeling he was missing something, some vital clue. So, he took his therapists advice and cleaned. Doing something productive was a good way to turn an anxiety attack into a positive outcome._

So successful was he at distracting himself, when his phone buzzed loudly he jumped in fright, drying his hands on a towel before answering the call. 

“Tracy, how delightful to hear from you!” He did his best to sound delighted but he suspected she heard the wobble in his voice and chose to ignore it.

“Dr F! I’ve missed our lunch dates. When are you coming back to London?”

“Hang on my dove, let me just pour a glass of wine and we can have a good old natter.”

“Good idea, I need a top up too.” Glasses and bottles clinked and sloshed.

Wine glass in one hand, phone in the other, he settled on the sofa with the phone on speaker “It’s quite lovely to hear from you, my dear lady. I have missed our little chats.”

An unladylike snort “Three hour lunches with at least two bottles of champers hardly qualifies as a chat. How are you doing so far from civilisation?”

Aziraphale sighed “Bath is only a short drive away and there are some lovely cafés nearby, its been quite a pleasant holiday.”

“Pish tosh! I’ve always been a city girl myself, I’m not convinced!”

“Oh my dear, the farmer’s markets are wonderful. Jams and chutneys and freshly picked strawberries! Crowley made the most divine salad with raspberry vinegar, it was heavenly!”

“Where is the redheaded ratbag, he would normally be mouthing off by now?”  
  
Aziraphale swallowed a large mouthful of wine “He’s out, not sure when he will be home.”

_Tracy’s ears perked up at ‘home’ and the implications of what that meant, but her reason for calling still hadn’t been discussed…..yet._

“You sound a little unhappy Dr F. Is everything alright?” _Ease him into it slowly Tracy old girl._

Uncertain of how much to tell her, he dithered for a moment “Well….it’s been quite lovely, actually. But….I’ve barely seen him this week. Hardly spoken at all. I’m afraid I’ve done something to upset him.”

“Oh love” her voice was warm and caring “It’s nothing you’ve done, I promise. Has he been working himself all hours? Falls into bed and up at the crack of dawn?”

“How did you know? He normally hates getting up early.”

“Loves his sleep does our Crowley. Ah Aziraphale, it’s not my secret to tell. But he will need you this weekend, he tries to forget, but his brain always remembers. Just be there for him will you? It might take all your patience and kindness, but be gentle with him. Will you do that for me?”

“It’s something from his past? It’s not me?”

_Her heart broke a little at how lost and afraid he sounded, it wasn’t her secret to tell and likely Crowley had forgotten the date in his….enjoyment of the two of them being alone together. She had been there for him on many occasions, first to clean up the mess afterwards, and then talk him down. Bee had helped him process a lot of the trauma, but some things embedded themselves in the subconscious, and Crowley had issues about admitting when he needed help. Even to himself._

_The most she could do was to offer cryptic advice and hope the two of them…..managed not to fuck each other up even more._

“Did he tell you he has nightmares?”

Remembering being woken by blood curdling screams in his flat, Aziraphale replied “Yes, but I don’t think he has for a while?”

She sighed, a long heavy breath “I don’t know if that will make it worse or better, love. If it gets really bad, call Bee. Do you have their number?”

Fumbling with nervous fingers, he scrolled through his contacts “Ummm not a personal number, no.”

His phone beeped “There, I’ve texted it to you. Don’t worry, they will understand. It will be alright, Aziraphale. Just be patient, give him some space to process. I’m sorry if I’m scaring you.”  
  
“My dear, I’m quite terrified, but I will place my trust in you. For his sake.”

“You’re good man Dr F. He is lucky to have you.”

“Not as lucky as I am to have him.”

Tracy sniggered “One day I’m going to get you drunk enough to spill all the details.”

Adopting his most prim and proper tone “A gentleman does not kiss and tell, madame!”

She dropped into cockney and replied “Yer ain’t no gennelman, me old china.”

“Me north and south is shut tighter than me jam roll, not a dicky bird!”

They bickered and snarked at each other, until Aziraphale hung up with a smile on his face.

_He went to bed alone, but woke up to a familiar warmth next to him, rolled over, sleepily buried his face in the mass of hair for a kiss, whispered “I love you, my darling” and drifted off to sleep._

_*************************************_

_Even though he expected the screams, they weren’t any less terrifying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>   
> 
> 
>   * Feedback
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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> 
> This author does her best to reply to comments (not always immediately due to timezones)
> 
> _If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (perhaps you feel shy), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!_


	31. An Anniversary Of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how hard we try or how fast we run, our demons eventually catch up with us. Crowley pays the price for trying and Aziraphale is left wondering what the hell is going on.
> 
> CW: grief and trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******************************************************************  
> Well this got longer than anticipated and coincided with the email thing so I took my time before sending it out. Apologies for the longer delay but hopefully people are now getting subscription updates.
> 
> We get a look inside Crowley's trauma and its not graphic but it could be triggering for some, so practice self care!
> 
> ***************************************************************

Crowley had been restless all week, a certain urgency driving him out of bed way too early, propelling him all day till he dropped with exhaustion. Impending deadlines with high stakes were a good reason for him to give his all, and his reputation was potentially on the line. Not just his but that of the business he was shaping up to hand on to the next generation.

As he racked up the miles in the Bentley, planning, talking endlessly on calls, subconsciously he knew it was not healthy behaviour, but he was being so productive he decided to let the slightly manic phase run its course. Bee would have words, they took a dim view of his occasional habit of working himself into the ground as a way to escape his inner demons.

It was a house of cards that would eventually come crashing down, not the least in the way he was treating Aziraphale. Those wounded blue eyes would gaze at him soulfully, filled with unasked questions. When Crowley let himself think about it, he felt guilty, but what was driving him had the whip hand, and he was helpless to do anything but run until he dropped.

_He deliberately stayed out late on Friday to avoid having to talk to Aziraphale. It was shitty of him, but he was so exhausted he just…..couldn’t cope with any emotional drama. Easier to postpone it than deal with a stressed lover whose self esteem was fragile on a good day. He knew he would likely lash out verbally if pressed, he was self aware enough to know that, so avoidance seemed like the lesser of two evils right now._

_Sneaking in like a delinquent teenager, stripping in the dark, sliding into bed next to his soundly sleeping angel made Crowley feel even more of a heel. He would have to make it up to him over the weekend……he fell asleep with plans of strawberries and chocolate mousse…._

_*******************************************************_

**_Panting, he exchanged a high five with Kei, they had both managed to pull off a series of cheat gainers after weeks of working up to it, and he was itching to try out his new shoes. Being tall made the flips harder but gave him the advantage with wall climbs, provided he got enough grip._ **

**_Probably should have bought text books instead of parkour shoes, but fuck it, he was entitled to some fun. There had been little enough of that to go around in the last few months. He could argue he was learning the culture and language, way more fun than the boring class he was supposed to be in right now._ **

**_Flicking his fringe, Kei grinned “You game Aka?” nodding towards the roof of the abandoned industrial complex the guys had co-opted as their training ground._ **

**_Bending to grab his bag and water bottle, Crowley grinned “Hell yeah, cat leaps here I come.”_ **

**_Whoops of joy and laughter rang around the deserted building as five young men chased each other with acrobatic leaps, jumps, swinging around poles and over bars. It was the perfect parkour playground. Crowley was a late starter, but his death defying attitude coupled with hours spent practising in the gym (until he was exhausted enough to sleep) soon had him catching up._ **

**_For someone on a scholarship for an Astronomy Masters program, he spent more time outside running than he did studying, and his marks were beginning to suffer. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to care when he could be here, high on adrenaline, challenging death and winning. Given he had attended two separate funerals in recent months for both his parents, it was a fucking bittersweet victory._ **

**_It was anger driving him, anger, pain, grief and shame. A complicated knot of emotions tied into losing the only people in the world who had even cared he existed. Now he was half a world away, where the culture and language were complicated, where he stood out, literally, bright red hair towering over the Japanese crowds._ **

**_No matter where he went, he never fitted in, was always….other…in some way. Yet these boys had welcomed and accepted him, they too were other within the strictures of their society. For a while he could feel like a person, like someone who….mattered._ **

**_Like….maybe someone would notice….if he wasn’t there any more…._ **

**_*************************************************_ **

**_“Aka, you can’t, it's too far” one hand clamped around Crowley's wrist “Come back tomorrow, after a rest. We are all tired now.” His hand tugged Crowley back from the edge of the building “Even for you, it’s too far.”_ **

**_Shrugging him off impatiently, Crowley drained his water bottle, shaking out his arms “Nah’m good. Just one last jump” he grinned, riding the edge of the adrenaline, ignoring the dull heavy feeling of lactic acid build up in his legs, the sting of concrete grazes on his hands._ **

**_The sun beat down on the roof, heat radiating off the concrete roof, reflecting off the metal of the taller buildings, sweat sheened over his freckled skin. Rubbing an arm across his forehead, he jogged in place. He knew he *could* make the jump, but if he didn’t, the landing at the bottom was tricky. The ground wasn’t even, a bad landing could easily end up with a broken ankle or arm._ **

**_Bouncing on the tips of his toes, eyeing up the distance, squinting into the bright sunshine, breathing in to settle his nerves, before leaping forward with explosive power, running fearlessly to the edge, launching himself into the air._ **

**_He knew immediately that he had got it wrong, leaning back just far enough to fuck up the angles, desperately trying to compensate, but he hit the wall feet first._ **

**_Flailing with his hands grasping only air, he fell backwards, off balance and out of control…._ **

**_…..it seemed to take forever for the ground to rise up underneath him_ **

**_…..there was a brief moment of agony as his leg cracked_ **

**_……then a sickening thud as his head hit the ground_ **

**_………………….._ **

**_……………….._ **

**_******************************************_ **

The air still vibrating with the force of his screams, Crowley thrashed his way out of the sheets tangled around his legs, still gripped in the horror of his nightmare, gasping hoarsely from a throat traumatised by painful cries. Staggering to his feet, shoulder slamming bruisingly hard into the wall, and he fell forward onto his hands on the mattress, coughed and vomited messily onto the remaining bedding.

Spitting to clear his mouth, very groggily he slurred “Fuck” and slid sideways into the waiting arms of Aziraphale who was reaching for his lover, heart thumping with fright and shock.

“Crowley! My god, you’re ice cold! Crowley! Speak to me!” locking his shoulder up under Crowley's arm, wrapping his own firmly across the rangy shoulders, bracing against the uncoordinated lurch as the taller man wobbled unsteadily.

“Mmm ok, bathroom NOW!”

Taking the hint, Aziraphale set his center of gravity as low as he could, using the power of his hips and thighs to balance as he steered them down the hall. Alarmed, he watched in horror as the redhead knelt over the toilet, stuck two fingers firmly down his throat and vomited until the acrid tang of bile tainted the air.

White and shaking, Crowley crawled over to the shower, curled up in the corner, licking his lips and shuddering at the taste.

“Fuck, turn the lights off angel, for the love of someone” he rasped, forehead creasing in pain lines, and Aziraphale realised he must be having a serious migraine. Flicking the lights off, he moved to kneel in front of Crowley, speaking softly and not touching him.

“What do you need my love, what can I do?”

_Crowley’s teeth chattered as the shakes worsened, leaning on the cold porcelain tile didn’t help. Wanting desperately to fix things, he remembered Tracy’s words “Be patient, give him space”. Clearly this was not an uncommon occurrence, he needed to let Crowley guide him._

“Shower, hot as you can make it” Crowley spoke through gritted teeth, curled up in misery and Aziraphale quickly activated all the shower heads, filling the bathroom with warmth and steam. Sensing the noise of the fan would irritate, he carefully opened the window. Keeping a wary eye on Crowley, he sat until the redhead sighed and slowly began to relax.

Padding quietly out to the kitchen, he filled a tall glass with orange juice. It would soothe an abused throat and give him necessary fluids and energy. He deposited it on the bathroom sink, leaving to quickly strip the bed, bundle the bedding into the laundry, and place some fresh sheets on the bed, to be made later.

Half the orange juice was gone when he returned, and Crowley had left a sodden pile of clothing on the floor, while he sat under the rain of water, slowly working shampoo into the ends of his hair.  
  
 _Shudders racked his frame, even in the dark Aziraphale could sense how much pain he was in. There was no grace in the sodden assemblage of limbs folded at haphazard angles, drenched hair hanging in limp tangles and snarls, plastered to skin rendered ghostly pale in the colourless dark._

Aziraphale couldn’t stand it anymore “Oh darling, please let me do that for you” and Crowley wordlessly nodded, holding the shampoo out in invitation. Shedding his clothes, Aziraphale slid up next to his lover “Scoot forward a bit my dear” easing in behind Crowley. He was certain that solid human warmth was better than a cold tile wall, and it moved Crowley into a better position for full benefit of the hot water.

Stopping for a quick cuddle, just the slightest pressure to let him know he wasn’t alone, Aziraphale very gently pulled the dripping hair back, lathered up the ends, before working suds into the roots. As Crowley began to ease back into his embrace, Aziraphale stepped up the pressure to a gentle scalp massage. His fingers were soft and pruny when Crowley shuddered and sighed.

“Gonna try standing up now, angel. Give me a minute, yeah?”

“Should I move?”

“Probably easier to catch me if you stand up first, love” and the hint of wry humour in his voice made Aziraphale feel much better. He hoisted himself up, hovering while Crowley slowly unfolded, stepping in to lean heavily on Aziraphale’s chest.

“Oh darling, I’ve got you, hang on tight” and with one arm bracing Crowley, he awkwardly managed to soap most of them down until Crowley leaned in with a murmured “Just….hold me angel…please”

_At first Aziraphale thought it was comfort Crowley needed, then he realised that the track of liquid heat down his collarbone was tears. Wrapping his arms around his softly crying lover, murmuring soothing nonsense, Aziraphale wondered what could possibly induce so much lingering trauma. How long had Crowley suffered like this?_

_Wanting nothing more than to take all his pain away, Aziraphale stuffed down all his questions. Be Patient was the guidance he was given, no matter how upset he was, Crowley’s needs came first._

“Water is getting cold, my darling. Perhaps I could tuck you up into bed?”

Reaching with one hand, Crowley shut off the shower heads, bracing himself against the wall, head bowed with his face hidden behind the snarls of dripping wet hair. Sliding sideways, Aziraphale rummaged for towels, one for him and two for Crowley. Drying himself briskly, slinging the towel around his hips, he handed one to the redhead “For your hair, darling. It soaks up water like nothing else.”

Gently shaking his hair forward, Crowley wrapped it with practised ease in a turban, holding his hand out for the other towel, slowly drying himself off.

_It was oddly intimate, showering in the dark, a little surreal but there was a comfortable ease between the two of them. They had been through so much together, this was merely another step along the way, a different rhythm in the symphony they were slowly creating between the two of them._

Crowley sat with a sigh on the toilet (having lowered the lid first) “There’s a black box in the cabinet, got my meds in it.”

Aziraphale knew the one, finding it by feel in the dark, opening it up to find an assortment of bottles and pill strips “Which ones do you need?”

“One from the dark glass bottle, a half from the smallest plastic one. Plus one of the electrolyte tabs.”

Wrangling the pills he dropped those into the waiting hand, which Crowley washed down with the last of the juice. Rinsing and refilling the glass with cold water, he watched the electrolyte tab fizz until it was dissolved, slowly drinking it down and sat, hunched forward a bit, doing what Aziraphale recognised as a breathing exercise.

The night air was a little chilly on his still damp body, and there was a bed yet to be made before Crowley could relax “Will you be alright here for a bit Crowley?”

“Yeah, that was a migraine and half a sleeping pill. Gonna be out like a light for six hours most likely.”

“Alright, I will just make the bed, and then we tuck you in, good and tight.” Tucking his towel more firmly around his hips he walked carefully in the dark, but Crowley's voice stopped him.

“Aziraphale…..thanks. Sorry for making a mess everywhere.”

_The defeat in Crowley’s voice shook him. The usual vibrant irreverent confident man was gone, leaving a pale reflection in its place. He couldn’t take away the cause, but he could certainly make sure Crowley didn’t suffer any more than he had to (migraine aside). Nor would he be left alone or made to feel …..less….in any way._

Replying with fond amusement “Darling, last time we needed a doctor and a policeman to help clean up the mess. I’m sure I can manage an extra load of laundry.”

****************************************

By the time they got back into bed, it was nearly dawn. Aziraphale lay listening to Crowley softly snore and fretted, until he caught himself. Using one of the breathing exercises Victor had given him, he soon followed his lover down into slumber..

****************************************

Leaving Crowley to sleep as long as he needed, Aziraphale rose late, groggy with the interrupted night. As he stared vacantly into the fridge he realised they were stuck in the middle of nowhere, he couldn’t drive and they both were going to need food and Crowley was in no state to do anything he didn’t need to.

They had sufficient fruit and vegetables for a day or so, but he didn’t know how long Crowley might be affected. Something delicious and filling and easy to eat……well pasta always fit that bill. Perhaps…..he could get a home delivery.

Eventually finding the place they had lunch at a couple of weeks ago, he called hoping to get a person rather than an answerphone. Luck was on his side, and after explaining the situation and offering to pay a handsome delivery fee, they agreed to cook up a storm and have it delivered.

Deciding to wait outside in the sunshine for the driver, and ensuring some privacy for his next phone call, he went and sat on the imposing formal staircase that greeted visitors.

With a certain amount of trepidation he called the number Tracy had sent and listened to it ring, hoping that it would go to voicemail.

"How are you Aziraphale?” Bee’s voice said cheerily.

Expecting to explain who he was and why he was calling, he struggled to switch mental gears “……How did you know it was me? And hello.”

“This is a private number, plus Tracy let me know you might be calling. Educated guess.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense. At least one of us knows what's going on.” He couldn’t help but let a little worry seep into his tone.

_Bee made a mental note to remind Crowley to not keep surprises like this tucked away from those who cared about him, the few he let get close enough._

“You didn’t answer my question. How *are* you, Aziraphale? It’s been a while since we spoke, I understand you have been seeing Victor. How is that going for you?”

He was tired and out of patience with everyone else but him knowing the situation, so he snapped quite rudely “Why on earth do you care? I’m not your patient. Why won’t ANYONE tell me what on earth is going on!”

There was a measured silence and he began to feel like he had crossed a line when Bee sighed “He hasn’t told you anything at all, has he. No, don’t answer, that was a statement not a question.” Another sigh “Right this is going to take a while, do you have time to talk?”

Mollified slightly by their response, he replied stiffly “I’m expecting a delivery, but Crowley is still asleep, dosed to the eyeballs on painkillers I think.”

“Migraine?”

“Screaming, vomiting, damn near going into shock. I gather this was expected, so why wasn’t it avoidable?”

“You sound angry.” Bee’s voice had dropped into that practiced calm therapist tone, and it was annoying him.

Abruptly he was seething with all the pent up fear and worry reaching boiling point “I’m fucking furious! He is suffering and it's horrible to watch, let alone experience and NO ONE WILL EXPLAIN WHY!”

He was gripping his phone so hard the sharp edge cut painfully into his hand, he put it down switching to speaker mode, massaging the red line across his palm, trying to calm his breathing.

“Aziraphale, I can’t breach patient confidentiality. You know that.” He did, but was unwilling to agree at this point. “Would it help if I told you that when I first started to see Crowley he ended up hospitalised for the first couple of years. The fact he can manage to self medicate and safely manage his situation is only due to the work he has done in therapy.”

Biting his lip, feeling a flush of embarrassment, grateful that they couldn’t see him he swallowed, “It would appear I owe you an apology then.”

A raspy hissing noise that he translated as laughter greeted him “Can I blame you for wanting to advocate so hard for your friend? Especially when he hasn’t had the decency to explain the situation.”

“Partner.”

“Excuse me?” Bee sounded genuinely surprised.

“He’s not just my friend, we are….together. A ‘thing’ as the young people would say.”

_Bee stopped pacing for a moment, doing a silent victory cheer with lots of arm pumping and silent hisses of affirmation. Yet this made it even more important that Aziraphale had the support he needed at the moment._

They couldn’t help their happy smile leaking into their voice “Oh, I’m pleased to hear that. He doesn’t let people in very easily.”

Finding he was fretting his hands together, he picked up the phone to keep at least one occupied “So I am beginning to discover. How do I help him Bee?”

_They could hear the genuine care and distress in his voice, and understood why Tracy had given him their private number. To have someone you cared about in pain and not knowing why must be very alarming for someone as empathetic as Aziraphale. They decided a little kindness would not go astray._

“Tell me, Aziraphale, how are you? And before you yell at me again, I’m asking because I need to understand your state of being to be able to advise you properly. So, take a few calming breaths and be present with yourself and tell me what you are feeling. In your own time.”

_He remembered the short breath in, longer breath out trick that Victor had shown him which was immediately calming, closed his eyes and let his body settle and relax, hearing the birdsong and wind rustling in the nearby iris leaves._

“I’m scared. I don’t know what's going on or why, and I feel helpless. I want to help but I don’t know what Crowley needs, and I’m afraid I will make it worse.” He paused, considering “I think….I’m angry at him, maybe….for not trusting me or telling me about this…..” He hesitated, stopping and starting uncertainly before carrying on “It’s a problem for me, when I don’t know what I’m supposed to do ……ohhhh.” He trailed off, obviously lost in thought. 

_Bee was impressed, that was a lot of self awareness and what sounded like a small realisation on the end. Victor had been a good choice and Aziraphale obviously *had* done the work needed for therapy to be effective._

They said quietly “It’s okay to be angry Aziraphale, you are allowed to feel things. It’s what you DO with them that makes a difference.”

The silence that followed was weighted while he processed “Or in this instance, perhaps what you don’t do?”

They grinned, he was a sharp one who would definitely keep Crowley on his toes, and not a bad thing at all.

“Good, you understand I think. Look I can’t tell you the details, but just be there for him. It sounds like he was pretty unwell, and that will take a toll. Do you still have the blue goo I gave you?”

For a moment he was confused and then remembered he had tucked it into his suitcase, on the off chance. “Yes I do, as it happens.”

“Alright, now pretend Crowley is a feral cat you are trying to catch. They need to trust you before they will allow you to get close, yes?”

Trying not to giggle at the mental image of an angry Crowley hissing at him, he replied, “Um….I’ve never had a pet.”

“Go with me on this, you put a little food out to get them used to it and every day you get closer and closer until they get used to your presence. But you never look at them directly, or try to interact. Instead you just sit, seemingly intent on some other task until eventually the curiosity gets the better of them, and they come towards you.”

“So you are both the bait and the trap?”

That hissing laughter again “More or less. Crowley identifies the goo as something to keep his hands busy while he processes. If you have a good reason to have it out, he will likely reach for it automatically and if you give him the time and the space, he will probably explain.”

“And if I’m worried, it makes sense for me to have it out? I think I understand, but there is only so long I can roll it into balls and squish it.”

“Have you got a laptop?”

“Yes but the Internet is dreadfully slow out here.”

They laughed again “Don’t worry, this will keep you properly occupied. Do a search for fondant flower videos, and use the goo. Bet you anything you like it will soak up a good couple of hours.”

“Fondant, as in what you use to ice cakes?”

“Yes my dear Professor, exactly that.”

“Alright, but if we are betting then let's set proper stakes on it, say, lunch at the Ritz.”

This time he laughed at the startled silence and then Bee hissed their raspy laugh again “Agreed, but take a photo at the beginning and some along the way so I have timestamped evidence. Fair enough?”

“You drive a hard bargain!”

They smiled into the phone “Indeed, but lunch isn’t the prize here is it?”

“No,” he agreed softly, “Thankyou Bee. Either way I think I owe you that lunch.”

“Be kind to yourself. And make sure he eats something!”

Aziraphale stood up and shaded his eyes “In fact my food delivery looks like it might have arrived. Merci et à bientôt!”

_Bee ended the call, putting the phone down thoughtfully. Until soon indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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	32. Dark Secrets Are Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley reveals some of his history to Aziraphale, its a traumatic few days for the both of them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***********************************************************************  
> OK I've been grinding at this for too long now, its nearly 6K but I didn't want to interrupt the flow of the story.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Suicide is briefly referenced in a couple of places.
> 
> Brain Trauma: Crowley makes a problematic comment that is *his POV* as part of the story and does not reflect the personal views of the author.
> 
> *******************************************************************

CHAP 32

LATER THAT DAY

Crowley woke reluctantly, squinting at the daylight leaking through the curtains, anticipating pain. Carefully taking stock of his body’s complaints – headache, eyes gummy, tongue dry and sticky, assorted aches and pains. Still, could be a lot worse, and the glass of water by the bed helped.

Warily sitting up, he assessed the headache, more dehydration and drug hangover than anything. That nagging hollow feeling was his stomach reminding him it was very empty and  **could he please rectify the situation. Immediately!**

Slowly he dressed, ventured to the bathroom for another dose of electrolytes and some normal painkillers. Having washed his face and cleaned his teeth, he stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment.

_ Christ….he looked…..old. Old and tired, black bruises shadowing his eyes, frown lines visible as the cool LED light showing up every visible imperfection. His hand rasped over the stubble darkening his jaw, his lips were cracked and dry, and worst of all his hair was fucking FLUFFY! _

A squirt of conditioner mixed with some water would help tame the fly away ends but the hunger knowing at his insides was insistent so he stopped fussing. Aziraphale had thoughtfully closed the hallway door to allow him quiet space to sleep, and he opened it gently, in case his angel had ended up napping on the sofa. They had both been awake for far too long.

The room was quiet, but Aziraphale was sitting at the dining table, laptop screen open, earbuds in and the tip of his tongue poked out the tiniest amount while he focussed on something Crowley couldn’t see. Crowley watched as he slid his reading glasses on, inspecting something intently, attention darting between the laptop screen and whatever he was working on.

_ Despite his bone deep tiredness, he found himself filled with a soft warmth as he looked at his lover. Aziraphale had given him nothing but gentle kindness and patience which Crowley knew he didn’t deserve at all. He owed his angel an explanation and several apologies. But for now, he would just lean on the doorframe, watching the adorable man fussing with whatever was in his hands, and bask in the fact he was still there. A small part of Crowley fully expected to wake up alone, with maybe an elegantly written note being all that was left behind. _

The room spun for a moment and he closed his eyes. Food, he needed food and caffeine. When he opened his eyes, Aziraphale was gazing at him with a worried crinkle to his brow.

“Are you alright my dear? You look a bit …..peaky.”

Deciding he would make it to the dining table without falling over, Crowley assembled himself in a vaguely forward direction and sank into the chair Aziraphale thoughtfully pulled out for him.

“Mmmm okay, just a bit dizzy. Need some food, just give me a minute.” He laid his head on his arms with a quiet groan.

With a firm pat on his shoulder Aziraphale said brightly “Stay there dear boy, be right back.” Quiet clattering of plates and utensils, doors opening and closing while Aziraphale hummed a snippet of something classical. A plate nudged his elbow and when Crowley raised his head, he was greeted with a bowl of fragrant lasagne, a can of coke beaded with condensation and an energy drink.

Grabbing the energy drink, he slugged down several good swallows. Pulling the plate towards him, he tasted the lasagne, it was only lukewarm but as the creamy cheese sauce and herbed ragu coated his tastebuds he hummed in delight.  _ Nothing as soothing as rich creamy pasta, even better when someone else cooked it! _

Remembering to eat slowly, he put half of it away before reaching for the coke. Cracking it open, he sat back with a sigh of relief, he could feel his body absorbing the energy already “Thought you couldn’t cook angel?”

Aziraphale sat in silence, watching him eat with a fiercely intent look on his face, as if he were counting every mouthful. 

“You’ve seen me burn toast my dear, I’m too easily distracted for cooking.” He shrugged carelessly, “Flattered as I am, all I did was pay a small fortune for La Trattoria to do it instead.” 

Closing his eyes as the ice cold coke soothed his throat, Crowley sighed in satisfaction. “Didn’t know they delivered.”

“They don’t but I offered to pay obscene amounts of money, so they agreed. We have enough food for a week now and you don’t need to lift a finger!” Aziraphale waved a hand at the kitchen bench and Crowley noticed the line up of cardboard trays still cooling on the bench.

“Although….” Aziraphale frowned “I probably should have got possibly a little less dessert. Might be a challenge to fit it all in the fridge.”

Working his way slowly through the remaining lasagne Crowley smiled “Is the fridge stuffed full of tiramisu by any chance?” His grin got wider as pink bloomed on Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Well, not *just* tiramisu. Cheesecake and some gelato in the freezer.”

Swiping a finger through the rich cheesy ragu smeared in the bowl, Crowley sucked it off his finger thoughtfully. “I’ve been slaving in the kitchen in this ungodly heat and you just wave a credit card at the nicest restaurant in the region and they deliver half their menu?”

The pink bloomed again and Aziraphale bit his lip, looking slightly embarrassed “Well, when you put it like that…”

Crowley reached over and entwined his fingers with Aziraphales “You’re a bloody genius, love. Thank you. Don’t think I’m up for tiramisu but I’ll take seconds on the lasagne.”

Turned out there was garlic bread tucked away in foil as well, so Crowley slowly snacked his way through an extended lunch. Aziraphale kept darting questioning looks at him while they chatted idly about nothing, obviously restraining himself from asking any difficult questions.

As he tore the crust into bitesize bits to sweep up the sauce in the bowl, Crowley nodded at the assortment of shapes on the table in front of Aziraphale. “Taking up cake decorating?”

Looking down at his clumsy first attempts the blond snorted “Bee is evil, conniving, and uncannily clever.”

Surprised to hear their name mentioned Crowley nodded “Not gonna disagree. Still…..flowers seem fairly….innocent of evil deeds.”

Ruthlessly squashing his truly awful attempt at a rose into a ball, gathering up all the other experiments, he deposited the lump in front of Crowley. “Be my guest!” he waved a hand at the video paused on his laptop “Helpful instructions my arse.” With a pout he stood “Give me your dishes darling, I shall soothe my wounded pride with menial chores!” He flounced very theatrically into the kitchen, tossing a teatowel over his shoulder with a flirty wink and wiggle, making Crowley laugh.

“You are a menace, angel” as he scooped up the lump of goo, idly rolling it between his hands to smooth out the lumps “I’m very fond of that arse though.”

“My arse is busy, but shift yours to the sofa so I can clear the table, would you dear boy?” Depositing the laptop and energy drink on the coffee table, he rattled the back of Crowley’s chair “Scoot!”

Crowley unfolded from the chair, turning with one eyebrow arched “Put our bossy pants on today I see?” he sounded amused but also a little…..uncertain?

Pausing in his bustling about, Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped slightly “I was worried about you. If I don’t keep my hands busy….I get very anxious. I called Bee for advice and they suggested the goo. It was helping, actually.”

Just like that the teasing mood evaporated, Crowley felt the weight of all the unasked questions and unsaid words settle on his shoulders. 

_ Now that the spell his warped brain had cast over him the last week was broken, he could see in hindsight how badly he had treated Aziraphale. Bee had explained how his body unconsciously tried to protect him from remembering the trauma of his accident. But he hadn’t seen the impact of his behaviour on others in this light before. Tracy was family and would forgive him anything. _

_ But Aziraphale done nothing to deserve being treated with such callous disregard. Even now he was desperately giving Crowley space while trying to deal with his own justifiable distress. Awake, medicated and fed, a little battered and bruised but Crowley *had* been feeling alright about the situation. Now he properly registered how tired and drawn Aziraphale looked. His clothes were wrinkled and didn’t match. His hair was sticking up in odd clumps and now Crowley was aware of it, he could see how quickly his left hand reached for the signet ring on his right, to twist it as a visible sign of his inner turmoil.  _

_ He was going to have to take better care of this gentle man of his…. _

Realising he had been silent for too long while processing his own thoughts, he stepped forward, capturing those strong pale wrists in his bony fingers with the softest of touches.

“Aziraphale…..” He looked into those limpid blue eyes “Christ, how do I manage to fuck everything up? Can I hold you?”

“Of course my darling.” His tone was light, but the tremor that ran through him when Crowley held him tight and close gave away how upset he was.

Crowley drew back a bit, resting his forehead on one sturdy shoulder. “Angel, I’m going to ask you to say something, and I need you not to argue with me but just say it. Can you do that for me?”

The pause that followed was a little too long for comfort but Aziraphale said “I’ll try.”

“To say it or not argue with me?”

“Low blow my dear, low blow.”

“Let's argue that one another day. Ok, repeat after me ‘Crowley you are an absolute disaster and you need your head read and boot up the arse’. Go on. Be stern, do your best Professor voice.”

“…..Crowley this is ridiculous.”

“Say it angel!”

With a much put upon sigh, Aziraphale straightened and said severely “Crowley you are an absolute disaster and you need your head read and boot up the arse.”

“Good okay, say this next ‘Next time you behave like an absolute twat, you will have the choice of my boot or Bees’”

“I….”

“Say it angel!”

“Next time you behave like an absolute twat, you will have the choice of my boot or Bees” he giggled “I think my boots are much bigger than theirs my dear.”

“Yes love, that’s the point. Next time, and I promise there will be a next time, you will not let me treat you like absolute shit. You have every right to call me out, and I need you to, Angel, understand?”

“Not entirely, but thank you dear, I do take your message here.”

“Yeah? Look, I am sorry Aziraphale. I’ve been a fucking cruel bastard, and its inexcusable. I promise I will explain, but I need some time. Is that okay?”

This time it was Crowley’s turn to sigh, as strong arms drew him in for a hug, and soft lips pressed to his temple. 

“Of course darling, take all the time you need. But thankyou, for apologising. I really was quite worried, Crowley.”

“I know love, that’s about as bad as it usually gets. Haven’t needed restraints or anything for a while now.”

Aziraphale led them both to the sofa and sat down, pulling Crowley down to cuddle against him “Restraints?”

“Well the first time this happened they thought I was having a psychotic break. It wasn’t pretty….”

Aziraphale had seen videos of highly agitated patients in training and a couple of real life incidents, he had a fair idea of how bad it could be. “No, I imagine it wasn’t at all pleasant.”

They lay in a thoughtful silence until Aziraphale wriggled with nervousness “Umm, can I ask you one thing?”

“Mmmmm?” Crowleys face was half mushed into his chest

“What on earth happened to your hair?”

Muffled snickering got clearer as Crowley raised his head and smirked up at him “Pot calling kettle, angel. Does this if I go to bed with it wet. Fix it later.”

Aziraphale twined his fingers in the abundantly fluffy fiery tresses “What do you do? To fix it?”

“Leave in conditioner, comb it, plait it. Can’t be arsed doing it now, takes ages.”

“May I do it for you?”

Crowley hoisted himself vaguely upright “So proper angel” he smiled and lifted the hand still tangled in his hair for a kiss “You really want to play with my hair?”

_ Oh no he’s doing the puppy dog eyes at me, shit now he’s biting his lip…..oh fuck, how did he weaponise cuteness like that…. _

“Nothing would make me happier. Are all your….ingredients in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, red spray bottle and the wide tooth comb in the cabinet”

While Aziraphale fetched ‘the ingredients’ Crowley got some music playing, poured himself a drink, fluffed around with some cushions making a nest of sorts on the floor in front of the sofa. Aziraphale slid in behind him, got squirting with the conditioner and gently started fingercombing the tangles and snarls.

********************************************************

Crowley had snagged the blue goo, squashing it between his fingers while Aziraphale quietly tutted over the state of his hair, apologising as he tugged a little hard on the snarls rubbed into his nape by the pillow.

For a while they just sat, Aziraphale humming to the music as he eased the emberbright hair into a state that would allow a comb to pull through it smoothly. Crowley leaned forward, arms on his bent knees enabling Aziraphale to lay his hair flat down his back.

“Your hair is so beautiful Crowley, it must have taken you years, or even decades to grow it this long?”

_ Oh this was nice, being … petted like this. How was it that something so simple as hair stroking was so soothing? Was it being touched in such a vulnerable area or was it the connection it formed by letting someone in, let them get close enough…..? Was it being bracketed between two firm thighs, holding him steady, grounding him in that solid warmth? He could almost feel like he could fall into a meditative state, floating in that timeless calm he reached for but so rarely achieved…. _

“Mmmmm used to be short. They shaved half it off when I was in hospital. Big scar on the left side, was a bit funny about sharp things for a while. Eventually it got so long I just left it. Got used to it.”

“Does it hurt still, the scar?”

A shrug of black clad shoulders “Nah, not after twenty odd years, angel, but thanks for asking.”

“Oh good, because I can feel how tense you are, how does a bit of a massage sound?”

Crowley twisted around to appraise him over one shoulder “If you want to get me naked, angel, just say so.”

“We both know you are in no state for any funny business. Purely medicinal my dear.”

Crowley sat back with a huff “I’ll give you funny business angel. Ow ow ow nrrggggh”

Aziraphale eased up on the thumbs he had firmly wedged in the knotted trapezius muscles on either side of Crowley’s spine “Not right now you won’t. Just relax darling, let me take care of you.”

“Ow! Bloody hell angel! Hard to relax when it feels like I’m being tenderised!”

“Don’t be such a dramatic bitch, you do go on.” Aziraphale was really trying to help but he was tired, emotionally wrung out and running a bit dry on patience and his tone reflected that. There was a tense silence then the rangy shoulders under his hands slumped.

“Yeah, fair enough angel. See, you are doing it already.”

Taking time to press and release, warming the muscles up while testing where the knots were, Aziraphale was only half paying attention “Doing what?”

“Calling me out on my shit. Knew you could.”

Kneading muscles in a slow regular motion Aziraphale said thoughtfully “I was just about to apologise for losing my temper.”

“Why? You didn’t say anything wrong, angel.”

“But…it wasn’t kind, Crowley.”

“Christ on toast Aziraphale! if your bloody stupid boyfriend spent a week ghosting you, had a major melt down, kept you up half the night and left you cleaning up his mess…. Well you are entitled to be a little pissed off. Yell at me, throw things, whatever.”

“What would you do….if I did yell at you?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly, working thumbs into the sub occipitals.

Groaning in relief, Crowley leaned back into it “God that’s tight, no don’t stop, it will help my headache. Mmmm.”

_ He knew this was only taking the edge off, but already he could feel Crowley’s posture loosen up as the pain receded. His hands were starting to ache, but he carried on as long as he could, and then switched to long soothing strokes. _

“I’d probably yell back for a bit. Dramatically slam a few doors, flounce around a while until we both calmed down enough to talk. Or I might just apologise and offer cuddles. Or go all in and do both. Depends.”

“Depends on what, exactly?”

Crowley yawned so wide his jaw cracked, he turned and knelt in front of Aziraphale, looking up at him with a cheeky grin “Honestly? The more likely it is I’ve been a bit of shit, probably gonna defend that instead of being a grown up about it. Never really outgrew the angry teenager, letting off steam makes me feel better. Not the type to stew over things.”

He stood and smiled down at his lover “Sometimes, yeah, I do need to be a dramatic bitch, that’s how I process.” He yawned again and held a hand out “Come to bed? Need a nap and a cuddle would be nice.”

Pulling himself to his feet Aziraphale smiled “Sounds lovely darling, but just a cuddle, hmmm?”

Leaning in for a gentle press of lips against lips Crowley arched an eyebrow “Not even a little snog?”

_ Blue eyes flickered down to his lips and lingered there for a moment, Crowley let his tongue flicker out briefly leaving a glistening invitation to taste behind. Aziraphale swayed forward the tiniest amount before pasting a fake frown on, but Crowley knew he wouldn’t be able to resist… _

“Working your serpently wiles on me, are you? Off to bed like a good boy!” A gentle shove to one shoulder turned Crowley around, and another one got him sauntering in the direction of the bedroom (with a little more hip action than usual).

“So bossy angel!”

“Keep being a brat, only have yourself to blame.” He swatted the swaying arse in front of him playfully “And you love it.”

Flopping gracefully backwards on the bed, Crowley opened his arms in invitation that Aziraphale willingly succumbed to, and they snuggled together.

Crowley said softly “I love you, angel, everything else is an added bonus.”

“Mmmmm” Aziraphale yawned this time, the soft warmth of the bed suddenly overwhelmingly tempting “Sleep now, talk later.”

_ Lying there listening to the soft slow breaths of his sleeping lover, Aziraphale’s thoughts drifted back to their discussion about what Victor would describe as ‘healthy emoting’. Being given permission to be justifiably angry about someone else’s behaviour was a novel concept. Despite Victor’s insistence on roleplaying various situations, Aziraphale was at heart a peacemaker. Avoiding conflict was always his default setting. _

_ Yet here was Crowley, both apologising for his behaviour and encouraging Aziraphale to call him out on it. Express his frustration or anger, releasing all that fear he had locked behind a façade of genial acceptance. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to let some of that pent up emotion free…..to not burden himself with it any more. _

_ Even just the awareness that he could, lightened his spirit considerably. He didn’t like the idea that they might need such an emotional outlet, but was realistic enough to realise that between his tendency to stubbornness and Crowley’s hotter temperament, it was likely inevitable. _

_ Although……there was a lot to be said for the make-up sex afterwards….. _

************************************************

After a pleasant nap, an afternoon lazing about, where Aziraphale finally managed to put a fishtail plait into Crowley’s hair (Crowley had other ideas but Aziraphale managed to resist his temptations).

A pleasant dinner nibbling on a range of tasty morsels, but the one glass of wine had Crowley snoozing on the sofa. Aziraphale wrangled him into bed, protesting the entire way, but he was out like a light within minutes of snuggling into his favourite pillow.

He pottered about, cleaning and tidying, doing the dishes, keeping his hands busy. But instead of the frenetic anxiety of earlier in the day, this was the familiar routine of housework while his brain ticked over, processing.

_ Still uncertain about the cause of events, he trusted Crowley. Granting him the grace to deal with what was obviously still a difficult event was a given. After all, Crowley had gifted him a week of his time to help Aziraphale after Gabriel’s assault. _

_ It was the not knowing, the wanting to help but not sure what to do, that lef him feeling rudderless. That fed into his anxiety, his own self doubt and lack of confidence. He needed to trust that he was enough, that being there was enough, that he wasn’t an added burden to his lover’s emotional distress. _

It was a much calmer Aziraphale who slipped between cool sheets, snuggled up to the warmth of a softly snoring Crowley. __

_ They would work it out. They had time. _

_ ****************************************************************** _ _  
_ _  
_ _ SUNDAY MORNING _

Reluctantly drifting up out of a very satisfying sleep, Crowley yawned and stretched. His brain felt far less bruised than it had done yesterday and the hazy hangover from the powerful migraine meds had lifted.

Today he would be all ‘itchy and scratchy’ as Tracy would call it. Too much energy but absolutely no concentration or focus to properly use it. Normally he would go swimming or hit the gym or stress clean his flat with the stereo loud enough to generate noise complaints from the neighbours.

Lacking all those options, he floundered for an alternative. Driving wasn’t a safe choice. Maybe he could dig over the vege garden…..

With a loud gurgle, his stomach reminded him that he had barely eaten yesterday. Right, time to get up. Shower, breakfast and then brain.

*****************************************************

“Mornin Angel.”

Aziraphale looked up from his book and smiled “Hello darling, you look *much* better.” He eyed the slightly zombie-like look on his lover’s face “Breakfast and coffee for you first. Can I help?”

Head already shoved inside the open fridge Crowley muttered indistinctly “Nah’m’good.”

Rolling his eyes at the very *not a morning person* now shuffling round the kitchen, Aziraphale serenely sipped his tea and settled back to reading. Some mornings it took a while for the food and caffeine to kick in and Crowley to rejoin the human race. At least today he didn’t feel the need for a loud thumping musical soundtrack, and the birdsong filtering in the open windows was pleasantly soothing.

Pleased to see Crowley eating with obvious appetite, for the first time in days, he merely commented dryly “Ravioli and garlic bread for breakfast, really?” as the redhead settled on the couch, juggling plates and a steaming coffee cup.

Mouth full, Crowley waved a fork in reply “M’hungry. Don’t wanna waste it. S’good angel.” They sat in companionable silence, til Crowley stretched his legs out and sat nursing his coffee. 

Aziraphale put his book aside, stretched and stood up “Hand me your dishes, dear boy. Did you have any plans for the day?”

_ As he pottered in the kitchen, he noticed one of Crowleys legs jiggling, it was too soon for the caffeine to have hit his system. He was far more of an active relaxer than Aziraphale, soon he would be nearly vibrating with suppressed energy….which would need an outlet. _

“I was heading down to the library, still got books to sort and box. Takes so long having to fetch them, catalog them and then box them.”

“Probably take a lot less time if you didn’t stop to read every 5 minutes too angel.” Long arms reached around him to drop the coffee cup in the sink, soft lips pressed a lingering kiss to that sensitive spot behind his ear.

“Hmmmm, I couldn’t possibly comment!” his tone was prim, but he melted into the embrace. It won him another kiss before Crowley stepped back.

“We need to be out of this place in a few days angel, spose I might as well give you a hand. You are only taking the essential books?” He frowned slightly “Only so much boot space in the Bentley remember.”

“Well….ummm” Aziraphale could feel the flush heating his cheeks and Crowley sighed “Yes, I know, they are *all* essential. You can put some aside, Book Girl won’t mind, I’m sure.”

“Oh, that’s a jolly good idea. Hadn’t thought of that.”

Crowley held out a hand “Yeah Warlock said you were like a dragon with his hoard. C’mon angel, let’s pack books.”

_ Sighing with relief, Crowley spent the day clambering up and down library ladders, fetching and stacking books, forcibly removing them from Aziraphale’s grasp, hiding his reading glasses (til he complained he couldn’t catalog them without them), arguing about the definition of ‘essential’, chivvying his angel along and at the end of a long day, the job was done. _

_ One stack of books small enough to fit in the Bentley sat by the door. A larger stack, carefully marked, would go back to the University when the movers Aziraphale had organised turned up to pack and shift the rest of the library. _

_ It was a fun day, teasing and mocking each other’s different points of view, trading banter and snark while working together as a team. It was nice, even Aziraphale ruefully commenting that he had got a lot more done with a stern taskmaster holding him to account. _

_ Still, if they found a moment here and there to steal kisses….well…..they were consenting adults. _

************************************************

Crowley lay with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, they were watching some French art house film, he used the excuse that he couldn’t see as easily to slither his way into that position. That he was reduced to boneless purrs of delight while well manicured fingers stroked softly through his hair, well that was just the cats whiskers.

_ It was a shame he was about to entirely kill the mood….. _

Deep breath in, and then out “Everyone thinks I tried to kill myself. No one ever says it to my face though.”

The fingers stilled for a moment, then resumed their action, a little less focussed than before and Aziraphale’s voice rumbled “What would you say if they asked?”

_ Well…that’s a good question…. _

“I’d say I was young, angry, grieving, lonely, afraid and too stupid for my own good.”

“That isn’t a no.”

Crowley huffed a laugh “Let’s just say that throwing yourself off the sides of tall buildings as a hobby might achieve a certain outcome, whether you deliberately intended to or not…”

_ He hurt so much, felt so broken and lost, like a sailboat cast from its moorings, afloat in the middle of a storm. It would be so much better if he didn’t care, hadn’t cared. But his adopted parents had loved him, genuinely, and he had allowed himself to trust, just a little. _

_ When they didn’t hurt him, yell at him, punish him for imagined slights, but gave only kindness, boundaries, open discussion, he trusted more and more, until eventually they became the parents he had craved. _

_ Of course, just as everything was right, all the good in his world was taken away and he was bereft. Left with this gaping painful raw wound where his heart used to be, and he raged against the unfairness of it all…. _

“Oh, my darling, it’s a tragic thing to lose your parents so young.”

“Yeah well, can’t fight cancer, but Dad…he just ……stopped. He knew it was coming, but it was like he couldn’t exist without her, Mum I mean. I needed him but he left me too.”

Soft hands stroked his hair as he choked back tears, and unwillingly carried on “It felt like everyone always left me, and I was stuck in Japan, a fucked up mess. They put me in a secure ward, if I’d been able to walk I’m sure they would have restrained me.”

“What happened?” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet and his hand never stopped its stroking.

“Got cocky, tried a jump I wasn’t ready for, broke my leg, bad concussion, swelling on the brain. They told me I was very very lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Would you rather have died?”

“Rather be dead than brain damaged, angel.”

“Yes” Aziraphale said firmly “That is a valid point. But I’m glad you’re not either.”

“Tell that to Tracy when she gets annoyed with me.”

“Oh I’m sure that only happens oooh once or twice a day.”

Crowley sighed “More like hourly but yeah, I am grateful it wasn’t worse, but it seemed pretty bad at the time.”

Aziraphale shifted under him, settling them both more comfortably “I can understand that they wanted to keep an eye on your head injury, but your leg should have healed nicely. Why didn’t you come home when you could fly?”

“Refused any painkillers. Most of them are opioids and I was terrified of getting addicted. Made it harder to recover.”

_ He had yelled at the Doctor until they took out the morphine drip once he understood what it was. Waking up groggy from a severe concussion and medically induced coma, it had taken a few days to come to some alertness about his situation. Accepting standard painkillers and anti-inflammatories as a compromise, he had spent the first night after the morphine wore off in agony. _

_ Every nerve in his hip and leg felt electrified, where the knifeblade had severed his flesh it burned, the bones aching, the dull throb of abused muscles coupled with the mother of all headaches had him sobbing, screaming, gritting his teeth til his jaw spasmed. _

_ The more he fought the pain the more his body hurt, until eventually exhausted, he had slept. It didn’t get any easier and when they forced him out of bed to mobilise the joint, he had begged them to let him die. _

_ By now he had managed to explain why he had made this decision. They had offered other drugs, but he was adamant, pain relief was a wellknown gateway to drug addiction, and he was suffering enough as it was, what difference would a bit more pain be? _

_ Quite a lot, as it turned out…. _

Haltingly, he told Aziraphale the true story of what had happened, how his pain and grief took him deep into a brooding sullen depression. The mental wellbeing of a patient has a lot of impact on how well they heal from physical trauma. Crowley had been carrying a heavy load with the recent death of his parents, coupled with a debilitating injury that had ongoing impact….well he had no reserves left to handle it.

The migraines and photosensitivity were not properly diagnosed until later, but unconsciously he was already seeking out darker shaded areas for the relief they bought. That was where, eyes squinted shut against the pain of another headache, he had stumbled on the uneven path and would have fallen except for a firm hand catching him first.

“And that was how I met the man who saved my life. Hiro taught me tai-chi, how to meditate, how to manage pain and how to be patient.”

“He was a doctor?”

Crowley laughed thinly “He was the fucking gardener angel, he specialised in bonsai and lived on the grounds. He had about as much English as I had Japanese, but we managed.”

“I saw some bonsai in Japan, they were incredible and one was over a hundred years old. You would have to be very patient to grow those.”  _ Aziraphale hadn’t fully appreciated the effort at the time, but he intended on doing some research. _

Thinking about all the plants he had broken or damaged in his hurry to wire them too soon in the process, Crowley hmmm’d in agreement.

_ Hiro had taken the wounded bird that was Crowley under his wing. They had connected over a mutual love of gardening, the bonsai being the lure that had bought Crowley out of his shell. Hiro had used a combination of techniques to teach him meditation, while also helping to strengthen and mobilise his abused body with taichi. _

_ Crowley still fought bitterly with the physio who seemed intent on torturing him, but as he got stronger and more able, it got easier. There were mandatory sessions with a psychiatrist and under Hiro’s guidance, he stopped fucking about and began to work with them enough to convince them that he wasn’t a danger to himself. _

_ Eventually Crowley was allowed to discharge himself and move in with Hiro, so long as he checked in with a counsellor regularly to monitor his progress. Having donned a pair of dark sunglasses (in blissful relief) he made a striking statement as his hair grew longer. Dressing in mourning black, the locals got used to the gaijin carefully navigating his way around the neighbourhood. _

_ A diet of healthy freshly prepared tasty meals tempted his appetite back, and he learned to prepare a few staples. As his grasp on the language improved, he settled into the local community and began the final stage of his rehabilitation. _

_ ************************************************** _

“Had to get a loan from the bank, they cancelled my Scholarship funds. Left me with just enough to get a flight home. Was on the bones of my arse, angel.”

“Oh Crowley, all that grief and pain and still having financial difficulties! Must have been awful.” He gathered Crowley into his arms “Come up so I can hold you properly, darling.”

With Crowley nestled into his shoulder, long legs sprawled over his lap, Aziraphale gathered his lover close, pressing soft kisses to his flaming hair (resisting the urge to rock him like a fretful toddler). He could feel the tremors shudder through his wiry frame as Crowley struggled to corral all the emotions surging frighteningly close to the surface.

Reaching down deep within himself to that well of calm his therapist had helped him realise existed, Aziraphale settled back into the sofa cushions like he was putting down roots “It’s alright, my darling. You’re here, and you survived. Even when you didn’t think you could.”

With a great shuddering breath, the dam burst and Crowley broke down into harsh gasping sobs. Sensing it had been a long time coming, Aziraphale held all the broken pieces of Crowley in his arms, just being there, holding his love while he cried out all the soul deep pain he had hoarded….for far too long.

When Crowley was reduced to ragged breathing and sniffles, Aziraphale shuffled forward “Put your arms around me darling, hang on tight.” With a deep OOF of effort, he hoisted the leggy bundle up in a bride carry, carefully negotiating doorways to deposit Crowley on their bed. “Back in a moment dear, make yourself comfy.”

Returning with a tall glass of water, a wet flannel and some tissues, pausing at the sight of his lover, tucked up in a tight ball of misery, visibly shaking as the adrenaline worked through his system. Kicking aside the dark pants that were discarded on the floor, he set his handful down, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

Crowley was huddled just out of arms reach, so Aziraphale said quietly “I’ve got some water and a cloth for your face darling. Shall I leave you alone?” 

He waited while the cocooned Crowley slowly shed his chrysalis of bedding, rolling over, making a long arm for the cloth. Even red eyed and ravaged from crying, he was still so strikingly beautiful, it made Aziraphale’s breath catch. Passing over the glass of cool water he waited while Crowley rinsed the salty tear residue from his mouth.

Long capable fingers twined with his, a gentle tug pulling him forward a bit “Stay Angel, just….hold me. Help me come back to myself?”

Shucking all his unnecessary clothing, Aziraphale slid into bed, it was still light outside and the soft glow painted the walls golden, dust sparkling in the sunbeams. He held his lover as Crowley relaxed against him, drifting off into a doze as the light dimmed and the emotional stresses of the day took their toll.

  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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	33. Moonlight Tryst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wakes up feeling better but still needs one more step to help him reach some form of equilibrium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***********************************************************************
> 
> While I was writing this my subscriber number ticked over 350 which is absolutely astonishing. I still wonder why people read this but I am super grateful that you do. As a reward, please have a bonus smut chapter!
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> Also raining Blessings and Thanks to Hatknitter who has edited this word salad into something that resembles writing!
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> ***********************************************************************

Crowley woke feeling hollow, as if his insides had been scoured raw, but also calmer and more settled than he had been for...years, probably. Talking through his experiences with a therapist was one thing. Spilling out all his sordid secrets into the lap of the man he was in love with... well that was very different.

_It had been an emotional rollercoaster for both of them. Hopefully, now that the worst had been revealed, they could move forward. Perhaps towards a shared future? Make use of the neglected cottage in the South Downs, a bit of a retirement project for them both?_

The salty tear stains were sticky on his face, and his tongue felt woolly and dry. Carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping Aziraphale, who was face-down on the end of Crowley’s pillow, he slid out of bed. After splashing water on his face, brushing his teeth, guzzling down some cold water, and applying a damp flannel where necessary, he felt much better. Even a few hours’ sleep had restored him to feeling….almost human… for the first time in days.

He leaned on the bedroom doorway for a moment, pondering the softly snoring bulk of his lover. Walking to his side of the bed, he quietly slid the curtains open, lifting the blinds to let the silver moonlight shine across the bed and bathe Aziraphale in its cool glow.

“Turn the light off, Crowley,” mumbled Aziraphale, burying his face even deeper into the pillow.

Crowley smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, pressing soft kisses where his lover's t-shirt had risen up, exposing the gentle curve of his belly.

“It’s moonlight, Angel, can’t turn it off.“ He leaned forward, running his hands up over his angel's body, lifting the t-shirt higher, pressing more kisses into the newly revealed skin.

“Close the bloody curtains then. I was asleep and you should be too.” Aziraphale sounded petulant but as Crowley worked his hands up with obvious intentions of removing the t-shirt, no further complaint was made. In fact, he lifted his arms, helpfully wriggling to assist, murmuring as they were face to face, “Feeling better, darling?”

Grinning, Crowley shed his own t-shirt, tossing both on the floor. “Wanna see you, Angel, all pretty in the moonlight, like a Bernini.“

“Nude, tortured, and tastefully draped in fabric?” queried Aziraphale as he ran fingertips over Crowley’s ribs before pulling him in for a kiss.

“Naked, luscious, and delectable...what's that word you used? Oh yeah,” he leaned in, kissing his way up Aziraphale’s neck to breathe hotly in one delicate ear, “Scrumptious.” Sliding one hand down to the waistband of Aziraphale’s underwear, he tugged. “Off, Angel. Please and thank you.”

Biting back a whimper when his hand didn’t travel further south, Aziraphale pouted, “Well, since you ask so nicely,….I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…”

_As the pair of them wriggled inelegantly out of their underwear, Aziraphale mused on the ridiculousness of the human condition. How nice it would be to not have to worry about inconvenient bodily fluids and so forth…yet the sight of a naked Crowley limned in silver reminded him…there were some perks to be had as well._

_Bunching up the pillows to recline on, Aziraphale arranged himself like a classical sculpture, lay back, and basked a little in his lover’s admiration. Body positivity was a new concept for him. His family had always shamed him for his softness. He realised he needed to see himself through Crowley’s eyes more often._

Dragging the sheets back to reveal all of his angel to the moonlight, Crowley hummed in approval. “Fucking gorgeous. Look at you, laid out like a banquet, just for me.” Bowing his head, starting at the shapely feet, he laid kisses to the tender insides of his ankles, stroking softly up muscular calves, kissing knees, up the inner thigh, hands cupping hips as he traced his tongue from hip bone to belly button, nibbling and kissing from one pert nipple to the other as Aziraphale gasped and moaned underneath him.

Paying extra special attention to the sensitive spots on his collarbone and neck, Crowley lavished his attentions until Aziraphale groaned, grabbed at the narrow hips that hovered carefully out of reach, and ground his hard length into the angular divot of Crowley’s hip bone.

_As lips found each other, tongues dipped and laved, bodies writhing in exquisite agony, the pleasurepain of teeth grazing skin, fingers tangling in hair, the hitch and stutter of breath as they slowly pushed each other to their limits, parting kiss-bruised lips, arching under each other’s touch._

_Desperate and eager for each other, yet both holding to this slow gradual pace that Crowley had started, it almost felt sacred, a pagan ritual, a joining of two souls under the light of the full moon._

“If this is your idea of an apology, I’m almost looking forward to our next tiff.” Aziraphale flicked long red hair away from Crowley’s neck, leaning in to lick the saltsweat taste of him, rolling them both to allow him better access as his lover melted bonelessly into his touch.

“God, Angel, that mouth….mmmm…..not just an apology.”

Aziraphale’s mouth was fully occupied but he managed a “Mmm?”

“Ooh just there, harder…..mostly an apology, but a thankyou too.” Crowley managed to say between moans.

Ceasing his merciless assault on Crowley’s throat, Aziraphale headed south, destination Nippletown. He hadn’t forgotten his intention to learn all the noises his lover was capable of making, so he indulged himself a little with tweaks, nibbles, tongue flicks, until Crowley was reduced to incoherent broken syllables.

Judging his lover’s barriers were lowered sufficiently, he sent his fingertips in a teasing dance ever downwards, pausing here, stroking there, coming ever closer but never *quite* close enough to Crowley’s straining cock.

Fabric strained under the frantic grasp of two fists as Crowley clawed desperately at the sheets to get some leverage, but Aziraphale had him pinned. Those fingertips stopped their dizzying dance as Aziraphale murmured, “That’s not all, is it my darling? Tell me what you need.”

_Fuck, he should have known Aziraphale would see through him. How did he tell him that he ….needed to feel a physical connection, that he wasn’t quite …whole yet… That it felt like Aziraphale was the missing puzzle piece he needed to lay down a strong foundation of self …for the both of them._

Grateful for a moment to gather his thoughts, Crowley sighed “I…need you to help me feel like myself again, Angel. To bring me some peace.”

Aziraphales voice was like warm syrup, soothing yet demanding an answer, “How do I do this?”

One work-roughened hand twined in blond curls, pulling Aziraphale to face him. “Fuck me, Angel... I need you…need to feel you.”

Dropping a kiss on the inside of Crowley’s wrist, Aziraphale tugged his hair out of his lover’s grip, bracing himself on both hands, on either side of the narrow waist and looked down at Crowley.

“No,” he said with firmness.

As the redhead gaped at him with astonishment, spluttering to assemble an intelligible response, Aziraphale said, “Shush, dearest. I’m not going to fuck you….I’m going to love you!” Swiftly he dipped his head, wrapping his lips around Crowley’s taut cock as his fist glided up and down with the merest touch of friction.

Reft of his higher cognitive functions, reduced to pure sensation, Crowley revelled in the feel of Aziraphale’s mouth and hand. Lost in that interlude between wanting and needing, he let himself sink into physical bliss….

_The weight of his angel’s body pressing down across his hips, the wet silken glide of tongue and lips counteracted by the tantalising friction of the fist working up and down the length of his needy cock….fingernails scraping the highly sensitised skin of his inner thighs, fingers teasing and fondling his balls, all the while that slow steady rhythm of mouth and fist aroused him more and more, yet cruelly denying him the climax his body was screaming out for…_

_It was too much and not enough….too much sensory input, his nerves sparking in random overload twitches. He could feel the cold moonlight on his skin, branding him with invisible arcane sigils wherever Aziraphale’s fingers touched….the most delicious torment, but it wasn’t what he wanted, needed, fucking craved….._

“God…fucking hell, Angel…,” chest heaving as he tried to gather enough of his scattered neurons together to form a sentence, Crowley tugged gently at the froth of blond curls. “That mouth….I would die happy….” As Aziraphale lay next to him, daintily wiping at his spitslick lips with undisguised relish, Crowley reached down to stroke his angels firm cock, “D’you want me to…?”

_He loved how freely Aziraphale indulged himself in pleasure, physical or otherwise. How he wasted no time in rocking his hips up into his lover’s grip, the deep growl of satisfaction as he arched his whole body into absorbing as much enjoyment out of the moment as possible…._

_Aziraphale brought a singular focus to the things he cared about, being extremely present in the sensory moment, as if committing it to memory in vivid detail to be replayed again and again. Crowley’s magpie brain, too easily enticed by the shiny, kept distracting him, anxiety and overthinking making it even harder to just…..be…._

_It helped when someone else was in control, allowing him to simply react and respond….He knew Aziraphale would take care of him….he just needed to trust a little more and let go…. if only the voices in his head telling him he wasn’t good enough, this wouldn’t last, that he didn’t deserve to be be loved…. If only they would SHUT UP!_

“Mmm that’s delicious, my darling, but I need you to stop now.” Aziraphale’s voice was husky and it sent a thrill along Crowley’s nerves, that he could rattle his angel’s composure so much. A hand gently cupped the back of his head, drawing him down for lingering kisses, bodies frotting together to the music of sighs, moans, whispered endearments, until they were both trembling with need and desire.

“Can you reach the drawer, Darling?” Crowley obligingly leaned over to grab the lube. “Some protection as well, my love.”

_Taking a moment to admire the long lean lines of his lover as he stretched across the bed, how the moonlight painted him with delicate brushes of silver and deep shadow. Brilliant hair rendered burnt umber, showing off the sculpted lines of his throat, the cut edge of jaw, finely drawn cheekbones. Aziraphale wished he had a camera, knowing that technology could never do justice to the ephemeral beauty of this midnight tryst._

A rain of foil packets on his chest pulled him out of reverie and he quirked an eyebrow at Crowley, who was sitting rather distractingly over his hips “Bit optimistic, perhaps? Neither of us is as young as we used to be?” He said it in a teasing tone, but there was something in Crowley’s expression that bothered him.

Disdainfully flicking the condoms off to the side Crowley frowned while toying with the bottle of lube “Lube’ll be fine, Angel, don’t need those.”

Taking a moment to push the foil packets aside, Aziraphale assessed his lover. There was a jittery, tense edge present but he was at a loss as to why. Opting for humour he said lightly, “Crowley, are you mansplaining how to fuck to me?”

Unwillingingly, a grin softened the frown, and Aziraphale took the chance to remove the lube bottle from those fidgety hands. “Come here, Darling. That’s it, lie down. You weigh hardly anything.” Pressing kisses where he could reach, stroking slowly with one hand up and down the tense back, rubbing soothing fingers into tight neck muscles, “It’s okay, my love, it’s a big step. We can stop if you aren’t ready. Or maybe you just need a moment?”

He felt Crowley nod and mumble a muffled response into his hair, so he carried on easing the tension out of the lean frame with his hands. “It’s all been a bit much lately, nightmares and migraines and such. My poor love, I’ll give you whatever you need, when you are ready to tell me.”

Crowley inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, and relaxed against him on the exhale. “Sorry, Angel, killed the mood. Just got a bit stuck inside my head.”

“Nonsense! You are doing so well, Darling, I always want you to feel safe and loved.”

He felt Crowley’s lips smile against his cheek as they kissed him softly. “Such a soft bastard. Love you, Angel.” He grunted a little as clever fingers eased over a knot in his back. “Ow.”

“Be a good boy and lie still for me. Can you do that?” He brought both hands down to sweep over the lines of Crowley’s body, slower, heavier than before. “At least pretend to play nice anyway.”

“M’not nice.” Hot breath tickled his skin as Crowley spoke, rocking his body under the ministrations of Aziraphale’s hands.

“Oh….” Aziraphale cupped his hands around handfuls of perfect arse, “You should stop being….ah….nice….and kind…and mmmmm…so good to me, then.”

_He felt that tremor and twitch of the hips, and it triggered a memory of when he had last said nice things to Crowley…._

Letting his hands roam without thought, he murmured, “Sometimes I pinch myself to make sure this is real, that someone as gorgeous as you would see anything in me - no, let me finish…” He stroked hair away to allow access to the hollows of Crowley’s throat, alternating words and kisses. “Gorgeous…clever…kind…funny…ahhh…patient…loving…smart…oooh darling…oh, and so very GOOD at everything...mmmppffhh”

Kissing him with hungry yearning, gasping, “Fuck, Aziraphale, you can’t just say things like that!”

Snatching his own kiss Aziraphale moaned as lean hips ground down into his, their cocks gliding against each other _. "I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars."_ He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind Crowley’s ear, tracing the line of his jaw, brushing a thumb over those cherished lips. _"I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary." _

Crowley’s smile was fond, “Poetry, Angel, you old romantic. Hmmm let me see...” He flailed around with one hand, grabbing the lube and pressing it into Aziraphale’s hand. _“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”_

Blue eyes opened wide in surprise “Oh darling, Austen! I had no idea!”

Crowley eased up on his elbows, grinning down at Aziraphale. “Well, it was a safe bet you would recognise something from over 100 years ago.”

“Brat,” said Aziraphale as he swatted him on one arsecheek.

“Oooh you tease,” Crowley waggled his eyebrows as he sashayed his hips in a very distracting manner. “Did you just go cross eyed?”

“What did you expect, rubbing yourself all over me like a wanton harlot.” He held up the squirt bottle of lube. “Careful, I’m armed and not afraid to use it.”

With an absolutely evil grin, Crowley leaned down ‘til they were nose to nose. “Go on then, I dare you….”

Out of sight, Aziraphale depressed the plunger a couple of times and Crowley yelped as cold gel landed on the delicate skin of his lower back. “Hey!”

“You big baby. Here, let me warm it up for you.” Heartlessly, Aziraphale smeared the gel around, giggling at the squirming redhead, scooping some up on his fingers, sending his fingers dancing southward. “Now be a good boy and stay still….or….” He stroked with soft teasing touches, anointing skin with smears of lube.

Shifting his legs to allow Aziraphale more access, Crowley twitched and whimpered with the need to stay still as he had been requested. “Or what…Angel?” He gasped as a finger gently probed the hot tight center of him and shuddered as Aziraphale said darkly,“Or you **won’t** get what's coming to you…”

_Aziraphale bit back a moan as Crowley’s body clenched tightly around his finger. It was an automatic response but he could only imagine how good it would feel when he was enclosed deep inside. He was rapidly losing his composure at how beautifully Crowley was responding to him._

“That’s it, Darling, relax. Let's do that again. It’s been a while for both of us, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Panting as he rocked into Aziraphale’s finger, letting his body remember what it felt like to be breached, Crowley laughed, “Bit of a difference between your finger and that bloody salami you manage to hide in your trousers.”

“The benefits of an excellent tailor, I’ll have you know. I still haven’t figured out how you tuck your kielbasa into those sinfully tight pants.” _How could Aziraphale sound so prim when his finger was ….where it was….doing what it was…ooh…doing…Ohhhh_

“Ahhhh…god, Angel…mmm…. good reason why I walk funny…. Oh please, Angel, need you! Don’t make me beg, not tonight.”

_Resolve crumbling under the heated urgency in Crowley’s voice, he tangled a hand in flaming red tresses, pulling him in for a greedy insatiable kiss that left them both breathless._

“Sit up, let me slide a condom on… you’ve got me so worked up I’m afraid I might not last, Darling. I want to make it good for you.”

As he deftly secured the condom in place, adding an extra layer of lube, he reached out a slick hand to gently caress Crowley's dusky cock. “Careful, Angel, you’re not the only one good to go…”

Aziraphale lay back, braced his feet up a bit for support and smiled up at his lover “In your own time, my love, take it nice and slow.”

Slowly, reverently Crowley raised his hips, positioned their bodies, bit his lip, closed his eyes and pressed down, easing them together with soft pants and grunts. “Fucking hell, you are thick, Angel. God, I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow, ….I’ll try to be gentle…OH!” Suddenly he was fully sheathed in Crowley’s tight core and it felt... AMAZING.

_Head thrown back, backlit by the light streaming in the windows, Aziraphale couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight than Crowley kneeling over him, throat working as he swallowed and groaned softly._

Pressing his hands onto those lean thighs, to help steady his lover, he asked gently, “Alright, my darling?”

_His body clamoured with the need to move, to sate the driving need already pooling at the base of his spine, he had never….wanted…coveted….so acutely before…_

“Yeah’m good…it’s been a while, shoulda practised with the bigger dildo.”

Before Aziraphale could ask what he meant, Crowley essayed a wiggle that drew a gasp from both of them, smoothly rose up and sank again. Aziraphale worked fingers even deeper into the muscle of his thighs, his only protest at holding still while his lover let his body accommodate the intrusion of Aziraphale’s increasingly demanding cock.

So lost in the pleasure, he hardly noticed when Crowley stopped moving, until he leaned forward and tweaked a nipple to catch Aziraphales attention. “Can we swap, Angel? It’s easier for me that way.”

“You should have said. Of course!” They rearranged themselves, Aziraphale tucking a pillow under his lover’s hips. He crawled forward so that they were face to face, saying softly, “Hi.”

Crowley paused for a moment before replying, “Hey, Angel.”

“Are you ready, my love?”

Bringing his knees up, while wriggling his hips down in a very unsubtle hint, Crowley smirked, “I’ve been ready since the first night we had dinner together.”

Reminded of the Sushi Incident, Aziraphale blushed but rallied, “I should have known that smart mouth would be trouble.”

“Only two ways to shut me up, and one is to Ahhhh….mmmm….oooh...” Reduced to abraded vowel sounds as Aziraphale sheathed himself with one smooth thrust, pausing to give his lover time to adjust until he gasped hoarsely, “Don’t stop, Angel.”

Taking a moment to brush aside some tendrils of hair plastered to his lover’s face, he kissed his forehead, each cheek, and finally the waiting mouth in benediction. “Nothing could ever stop me loving you, Crowley.”

_As their bodies moved together in the dance that was at least as old as Adam and Eve, at first with a soft tenderness as mouths kissed, hands stroked and clasped. Aziraphale did his best to be gentle, but Crowley’s heels digging into the backs of his thighs, urging him on with grasping fingers, endearments, and filth pouring forth between throaty moans almost undid him._

_******************************************_

_When Crowley’s time came, this is how he wanted to go, being fucked with a savage gentleness by an absolute bastard who had figured out where his prostate was, and very deftly AVOIDED it just enough to drive him wild. He was being very carefully wrecked and had decided to give himself fully over to the experience, choosing to be vulnerable and open, giving it all back to his lover._

_It was the sweetest, most delicious torture, but he was ready for it to end, and he suspected Aziraphale was near the end of his tether too…._

“Angel…,” he panted, both of them glistening with sweat as their bodies strained together, “Stop holding back...M’m a big boy, I can take it...”

_Please…oh god….please fuck me…like you mean it…..like I matter….show me how much you love me…make everything better just for that one blissful moment…when I feel real…whole…loved…_

“I’ll hurt you,” _he could hear the strain in Aziraphale’s voice and decided to take matters into his own hands, so to speak._

Unwrapping his legs from around Aziraphale’s waist, he bought them forward, resting them on his angel’s sturdy shoulders and the change of angle was *just* what he needed. He growled, low and hungry and felt the answering tremor in Aziraphale’s body. “C’mon, Angel, smite me good and hard.” When two hands slid up under his knees he bared his teeth and hissed, “Yessssss.”

He stared up at Aziraphale, whose hair looked like starlight, glowing like a halo, forehead scrunched in concentration as he stared down at his cock, sliding in and out of his lover’s body. It was deeply erotic, watching his lover watch himself fuck him, and he reached for his own cock, Aziraphale’s hands were busy, and he was working hard enough already.

Reaching back with the other hand to brace himself, Crowley closed his eyes, chasing his rising orgasm “God…Angel….mmmm faster, Love….”

“Crowley…fuck…I’m close…” 

“Me too….ahhh…yes…oh fuck…please….AH!” His hips were wrapped in a bruising grip, pulled forward as Aziraphale finally gave in to the primal impulses of his body. 

Chanting, “Yes yes yes god fuck yes yes,” as Aziraphale railed him properly, until he had no more words left. Crowley rode the cresting wave of pleasure that crashed through his nervous system, leaving him in sensory whiteout. He groaned at the aftershocks quaking through him as he felt Aziraphale jerk and shake as he reached his own climax.

_Eventually reality with its sticky awkwardness returned, but Aziraphale gently attended to tidying up the both of them, offering a glass of water and some painkillers for the morning. It was ….nice…being taken care of without any drama._

As they lay, basking in a well earned postcoital glow, Crowley tangled his fingers in Aziraphale’s, bringing his hand up to kiss the back of it.

“Thanks, Angel.”

Laughter rumbled softly in Aziraphale’s chest “Oh, my darling, it was *entirely* my pleasure.” He tightened his fingers gently around Crowley’s.

“Yeah, not just the sex, which was fucking fabulous, by the way. But, for ….taking care of me. S’nice.”

Another squeeze of fingers “I’m honoured that you felt safe enough to let me, Crowley. I do love you quite ridiculous amounts.”

_With that, the final piece his soul needed clicked into place, and Crowley drifted off to sleep with a contented smile on his face._

**********************************************

He was sore the next day, trying not to show it, but Aziraphale caught the winces of pain and fretted in an endearingly annoying way.

Fortunately, all they had to do was supervise the moving truck that turned up to pack away the rest of the library contents. Aziraphale fussed and generally got in the way, so Crowley retired to a well-earned nap on the sofa instead.

The smell of something rich and savoury roused him from his lingering doze, despite a stomach clamouring for food (he had slept through lunch), he felt….better. Grounded in a way he hadn’t been before. Yawning and running his tongue over teeth in need of a clean, he stretched. The books would be finished packing tomorrow, all they had to do was make sure the place was tidy, and then be on their way back to London.

Accepting a plate of ravioli and a glass of red wine, Crowley tucked in with good appetite, while Aziraphale complained about the departure of the books. He tuned him out, concentrating on the food, opting for a double helping of tiramisu instead of seconds.

Putting his plate on the floor (ignoring the pointed look cast in his direction), he stretched out, tucked his feet under Aziraphale’s thigh, and sighed. It had been an unexpected gift, this holiday in the sun, a honeymoon respite from the real world.

Finger’s tickling the inside of his ankle distracted him. “Crowley? Are you alright? You’ve been very quiet.”

Given that Aziraphale had talked nonstop through dinner, Crowley raised a very sarcastic eyebrow at him, and the blonde had the grace to blush. “Yes, sorry. You know how I get.”

Waving a hand in casual dismissal, Crowley levered himself up to a vaguely sitting position. “S’alright, Angel, was thinking. We’ll be on our way back to London in a couple of days….”

Aziraphale bit his lip, expression solemn. “Yes.” His hand tightened around Crowley’s ankle. “Will it change anything…for us?”

_In a flash of insight Crowley realised that some of Aziraphale’s endless chatter had been nerves. He too was aware of the fact their …situation…was about to change._

Crowley grinned at him. “Gonna have to do your own cooking, Angel, cos you won’t have a live-in chef anymore.”

_Oh, that had been the wrong thing to say, he could see his angel withdrawing back into his shell._

He reached forward, grabbed a hand and tugged until he had an ungainly lapful of sulky angel. “Hey hey, it's alright, Aziraphale, we’re good. But you’re going back to your life, and I’m going back to mine. But I’ll be around so much, you’ll get sick of the sight of me. Promise.”

“Maybe….I could visit your flat…sometime?” Aziraphale snuggled up against him with a happy wriggle and Crowley sighed, trying to picture him feeling vaguely comfortable in his sterile, bleak, stone sanctum.

“Yeah, Angel, if you like, sure.”

**************************************************

Two days later they bickered over the best way back to London to avoid the worst of the traffic (Crowley voting for the motorways and Aziraphale wanting to stop at quaint village stores for snacks). Agreeing to stop somewhere nice for lunch was enough to settle the argument. With a sigh and a last look backwards at the place that had become unexpectedly meaningful in his life, Crowley sent the Bentley down the long curving driveway for the last time.

*************************************************

Carmine Zuigiber stared at her assistant, and with narrowed eyes and a dangerous edge to her voice said, “He did what!?!”

Swallowing, Eric edged forward with a printed copy of the email outstretched, knowing his temperamental boss wouldn’t believe it ‘til she saw it in black and white for herself.

**Dark Angel Enterprises thanks you for the opportunity to assess your property. However, given the scope of the work necessary (see attached documents for reference) we will be declining further engagement on this project.**

**We would be happy to offer recommendations for other design partners should you be interested.**

**Please find included our invoice for expenses.**

With an angry snarl, she shredded the paper, scrunching it into a messy ball and throwing it at Eric (who had prudently moved out of range). Stalking across the room, tossing her namesake crimson hair back angrily, she paced.

“Who the fuck does he think he is! I would have made his career! How dare he say no to me!”

She ranted for a while, and Eric gradually faded out of the room, leaving her to it. She hadn’t even bothered to ask for the attached documents. Eric had, and while he didn’t understand most of the technical explanations, the numbers added up to a truly astonishing amount. He didn’t blame this Crowley guy for walking away . In fact, he admired his guts for doing so.

Carmine was spoilt and indulged and used to getting her own way. Eric was hired by her father to help manage the worst of her excesses (and paid not nearly enough), perhaps it was time to cut his losses and run too.

He had already approved payment on the invoices without Carmine’s oversight. They had done the work and deserved to get paid. By the time she thought to check, the money would have been released. Wasn’t like she couldn’t afford it, either.

The tap of heels on the polished concrete floor heralded his boss’s arrival, tumbler of bourbon in one hand. “Call my lawyers, we are going to gut that Limey bastard and hang him out to dry.”

_Oh…..that’s not good, that’s not good at all._

Eric called the lawyers, completed all his tasks for the day, even though Carmine left hours before him. His final task was to type his “I Quit” email to Carmine and her father, collect his passport, and book a flight for Berlin. He had time to pack, tell his flatmates he would be away for a while (for work, he implied heavily - it wasn’t unusual) and make his escape before the goons came looking for him. He pressed send on his last email as he stood in line to board his plane, dropping his phone into a bin.

It wasn’t the first time he had reinvented himself, likely wouldn’t be the last. Eric had learned the hard way how to survive, and Carmine was the kind who would burn the whole world down to get her way. 

He only hoped the guy who had laughed at him in his charming British accent, saying, “Call me Crowley mate, none of that Mr business,” had some idea of what was headed his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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	34. Drama and Playing Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences, both Crowley and Aziraphale find that out the hard way. Trouble is, it’s OTHER peoples actions that have the consequences for them, and that only complicates the situation. Things do not go well.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********************************
> 
> Apologies most delicious of readers - I made you wait and wait for this chapter and it was SO HARD TO WRITE!!!!
> 
> My fabulous and patient beta/editor Hatknitter has been so generous with her time and kind in explaining all many ways I went wrong with this chapter.
> 
> Finally its done! The day job has calmed down a bit so I should have more headspace for writing and the rest will be a bit easier and quicker.
> 
> Thanks for your patience!
> 
> **********************************************

Tracy sighed, took her glasses off, and tried to ease the building tightness in her temples. Crowley had been in such a good mood the last few weeks, it seemed a shame to burst his happy bubble. There was only so long she could hold back the bad news. He was the name and the face of the business, although that seemed more of a curse than a blessing at the moment.

Laughter and chatter rang out from the break room. This late on a Friday they would have stopped for drinks. Normally she would have joined them, but the weight of the emails and phone calls she had been carrying dampened her enthusiasm.

When Crowley swanned into her office, a glass of white in each hand, depositing one on her desk and collapsing with a cheeky grin into his chair, she sighed a little. 

“Not joining in the fun, Tracy? Unlike you.”

Rather desperately wanting to take the glass and drain it in one go, she instead took a polite sip and put it aside. “Close the door, Crowley. We need to talk.”

Confused at her serious tone, he obliged by hooking one ankle around the door and swinging it shut. Putting his wine glass down, he leaned forward and gave her his full attention. “Tracy, I know you hate to sound like a cliché. Could we stop with the dramatic pauses? Got a gallery opening thing with Aziraphale tonight, be nice to get to the point.”

Silently she handed him a handful of emails and notes from various phone discussions, several with their lawyers, the rest with clients and a few friends from within the industry. He flicked through them quickly, frowned, and started to read more slowly. Finally, he looked up at her, took his phone out, and called Aziraphale.

“Hey Angel, look I’m sorry to do this at the last minute, but something’s come up at work.”

“Everything all right, my dear?”

“Yeah, just some paperwork snafu gotta work through, but probably won’t make the gallery thing or dinner.”

Crowley could hear the disappointment in Aziraphale’s voice, but he rallied cheerfully, “Well, make sure you do eat, darling. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll call you. Could be a late night.”

There was a pause. “Are you  **sure** everything is all right, Crowley?”

_ Damn his perceptiveness. _ “Yeah, Angel, ticketyboo. Talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”

Tracy smirked gently at him as he hung up, “Ticketyboo?”

“Bugger that, how long has this been going on?” He brandished the paperwork angrily. “I thought they paid their bill and we were quits? Now that American bitch is trying to get me… blacklisted… or something? What’s her fucking problem?”

Frowning at him, Tracy donned her reading glasses, “Well, apparently she doesn’t like it when people say no to her. Her lawyers came up with some rather pathetic swipes at the contract, but it’s pretty ironclad. Plus they were American and… ,” She shrugged expressively, “they only vaguely understood the concept of a Heritage building, let alone all the special planning permissions that you need for a Listed Building.”

“That was outlined in explicit detail in my report. Figured they would need all the details if they wanted to go ahead.”

Nodding,Tracy replied, “Yes, that was pointed out to them. But from the responses we got back, I don’t think anyone actually READ your report. Not in detail, anyway.”

“Well… fuck…. So she’s throwing a hissy fit because I turned down the job?” He flicked through the papers again. “Some of this… I could sue her for libel.” 

“Crowley, you can’t sue her unless you have evidence, and so far all we have is gossip and rumour. It’s a pretty effective smear campaign, but we can hope it will blow over soon.”

“How many clients have canceled on us?”

“Only one so far, and he was iffy all along. Not sure it's related.” She paused, and handed over one last document. “This also came when you were away. I didn’t realise it was private, and I opened it.”

It was the report from his accountant, breaking down the company assets in preparation for him to offload them or pass them on to a new owner. There were no details, but enough information for her to be concerned.

“Shit, Tracy, why didn’t you call? Fuck, I’m thinking about retiring, wanted to get the numbers sorted. Nothing sinister, promise.”

Tracy let go of the breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding…. _ Retiring, that was alright, but what was he going to do with the company?  _ Lightly she said, “Well, might be time for me to settle down too, if you don’t need me around.”

Pursing his lips in thought, Crowley eyed her from behind his dark glasses. “I was gonna pass it on to the kids, and make you a Director. Thought maybe you could stick around for another year, teach them the stuff they need to know.”

“Oh! That’s… well, that's a surprise…”

He shrugged, “You taught me damn near everything I know. Might as well get some benefit out of it?”

Reaching for the wine glass, she did indeed drain off half in one go. “How will it work, exactly?”

“Well the kids can’t afford to buy me outright, so I will stay a minority silent financial partner. You will have a veto over the really big decisions and, hopefully, they swim and don’t sink. They can leave me as an investor or opt for 100% ownership.”

“But you are going to walk away? A clean break from everything?” Tracy sounded a little stunned.

“Been thinking about it for a while, but now feels like it's right.” Crowley frowned again, “That’s if I have any business left after that bloody bitch stops with the hatchet job.”

“I can call in a few favours, but we need to come up with a plan.”

Crowley rose. “Right, I’ll get rid of the kids, you order some food. Gonna be a long night.”

*******************************************************

The next day, US time, a scathing article (gleefully commissioned by Carmine) was published on one of the news sites that specialised in papping the glam and famous – where the content was full of gossip, innuendo and spite. By Monday, UK time, it had been picked up by Tatler and the rumour mill was buzzing.

Crowley’s phone beeped at him like a mad thing until he switched it to silent, but the screen kept lighting up with all the notifications. It seemed that his fall from grace was now public consumption. Crowley had made a few enemies and had a few disgruntled customers in his time, but now everyone seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork to rubberneck at his humiliation.

Social media was rife with theories, innuendo, third-hand gossip magnified vastly out of proportion. Everyone was having a field day at his expense, and there was little he could do about it, other than weather the storm. Advice from his lawyers was to ride it out or, in the words of one of the younger paralegals, “Don’t feed the trolls.”

*******************************************************

“Crowley, why are those people staring at us and taking photos?”

Flicking through the notifications on his phone, he replied, “Hmmm?” absently, then winced when a soft hand closed firmly over his wrist.

“Crowley, please put your blasted phone down and explain!” Aziraphale’s tone was polite, but his face was unhappy. “You blew me off all weekend, and have barely paid attention to anything I’ve said. What the blazes is going on?”

Tired, stressed, and short tempered due to the headache from spending too much time looking at his phone, Crowley caught himself before he snarled at Aziraphale. “Sorry, Angel, I’ll explain. But not here, ‘kay?

Summoning a waiter with a raise of his eyebrows, Aziraphale got the remaining sushi boxed up to go, sorted the bill, and marched them out, with a glare at one particularly annoying person who was waving his phone at them.

Announcing it was a nice day for a walk in the park, Aziraphale walked off most of his huff, while Crowley followed meekly along. As they meandered through the lunchtime crowds enjoying some brief London sunshine, Crowley explained the situation. Spotting an available bench tucked under the shade of some trees, he steered them in that direction and collapsed with a relieved sigh, glad to be out of the bright sunlight.

Aziraphale had been quiet after his initial questions, mulling over the situation, but Crowley’s audible sigh caught his attention. “Are you all right my dear?”

“Headache, Angel. Too much bright light.”

“Too much time staring at your bloody phone, more likely.”

“Yeah, doesn’t help, but it’s a bit like a slow motion train wreck. Can’t look away.”

“So, what are you doing to stop it, Crowley? It’s unlike you to just… let this happen?”

“S’what the lawyers advised. Let it blow over.”

“People are recognising you in a sushi place in Soho. Doesn’t seem terribly effective, my dear. Why don’t you fight back? Set the record straight? Or at least tell your side of the story.”

“You mean, go to the press?”

“Surely you must know someone with some journalistic credibility? Wouldn’t it be a … scoop… ,I think they say, for them?”

“Offer them an exclusive? Need to think about it.” His knee joggled with nervous tension, “I don’t want to provoke her, Angel. Can’t afford to fight this out in the courts, and she probably plays dirty anyway. It’s gonna be messy for a bit, but I can handle it. Just don’t want you or the kids to get hurt in the fallout, so gonna lay low for a bit, wait it out like the lawyers suggest.” He yawned and stretched “Sorry, not sleeping so well.”

Handing Crowley the box of sushi, Azriaphale stood up and dusted down his pants. “You barely ate anything at lunch. Go home and have a nice nap. Mind how you go, my dear.” With a smile and a nod he headed off in the direction of the duck pond.

In the distance, the click of a camera with a long lens on it could be heard.

Waiting until Aziraphale was gone, Crowley pulled his phone out and sent a text:

**You and your friends up for a fishing trip? Little birdie tells me the best chowder recipe can be found in a fancy place in New York?**

He waited until an affirmative reply came through, and smiled grimly. He knew how to play dirty too.

*******************************************************************

Two days later the situation was even worse. Crowley had hired some security guards after complaints from other tenants in his building. He was grateful the landlord had put swipe card access in the lift, as it kept out even the more opportunistic blogger/journalists. Especially after he also sent a bottle of quite nice wine with an explanation and an apology to every other flat in the building.

Strangers were now scrutinised and given the third degree by everyone in the building. But the longer their privacy was intruded upon, the grumpier people got about it. Something was going to have to give.

********************************************

Crowley slumped in his usual chair in Tracy’s office and quietly worshipped the steaming coffee he hunched over like a gargoyle. She opened a certain drawer under her desk, withdrew a packet of Hobnobs, opened it, and wordlessly left the open packet on the floor next to him.

She pondered a task she could carry out to look busy while still keeping an eye on the brutally tired-looking man who was halfheartedly munching his way through his favourite biscuit.  _ Ahhh, filing would do the trick.  _ The longer she stayed silent, the more chance he would eat something. Plus it seemed he needed space to process or work up to whatever he wanted to talk about. 

“Aziraphale thinks I should do something, tell my side of the story.” He sighed, rolling the tight muscles in his shoulders as he sat back in the chair. “We had a fight about it. I didn’t realise how upset he was.” 

Tracy looked at him flatly, the way his teachers used to when he was being particularly annoying. “Because you’ve had your head stuck so far up your own arse?”

He gave her a very slow blink, but the corner of his mouth arched up. “Yeah, deserved that. It’s so bloody frustrating. I don’t know how to fix this. Stupid spoilt American and her bloody persistent lawyers.” 

Grabbing her phone, scrolling through the contacts, Tracy peered over her reading glasses, “Who do you want to talk to, love? Make a big splash in the tabloids, or something classy and respectable?” 

“Do we know anyone classy and respectable? Which reminds me, where’s the wine?” He waggled his empty coffee mug at her.

“It’s 10am, you heathen, and I know several classy and respectable people. Sometimes they manage to be both at once.” 

“Doubt any of them are journalists.” Giving up on the wine, he munched sadly on a Hobnob.

“Actually, there is one… usually does political stuff, lots of economics, but occasionally does human interest stories. Let me make a few calls.” 

“Use the Slush Fund if you need to. That’s what it’s for.” 

“Figured you’d spent it all on whisky to drown your sorrows… judging by that hangover.”

Abruptly, all the good humour drained from his face and he ungracefully stood up, “Yeah, well, last night I was expecting a nice dinner out. Instead I got yelled at, had to walk home in the rain, ate an extremely average curry, and spent the night alone. So yeah, seemed like a hangover was the best way to celebrate all that.” He paused, “Giving him some space to cool down and trying to get my head together. I miss him.”

_ So busy had he been with his own drama, he hadn’t taken into consideration how the fallout would affect those around him. Not just the business, but his personal life. For so long he had been solitary and driven, having someone else to accommodate now was new territory for him, for the both of them, and he had failed spectacularly. _

“Oh, love.” Sliding her glasses off, she walked round the desk and enveloped him in a soft hug and lingering notes of Chanel, “Stop trying to do everything yourself. You have people who would love to help, if only you’d let them. Have you told the kids yet?” 

Surprisingly, he let the hug linger,  _ he needed the comfort from her that he wasn’t getting from his Angel _ . 

“‘Bout me retiring? Not yet, but pretty sure Warlock has sussed something’s up. Which reminds me, haven’t seen him this morning?” 

As he stepped back, she bent, retrieved the coffee mug, and placed it in his hand. “Client meeting in town. Some last-minute thing, you know how it is. Pepper and Adam will collect him for that 11am appointment in Shoreditch.” 

“Mmmmm, righto, back to the grindstone.” He turned and smiled that sweet genuine smile he rarely let anyone see, “Thanks, Tracy… for… everything.” 

She flapped her hands at him, “Off with you! Thank me later.” 

He sauntered in the direction of the kitchen, no doubt in search of more coffee. She picked up her phone and sent a text saying, “Call me.” Then she sat down and began her quest to track down her very elusive quarry, a journalist with ethics and credibility.

******************************************************

**A couple of days later**

Adam followed Warlock out of the Tube station. “Is this some kind of kinky sex thing? Taking me to a dungeon in Soho?” 

Warlock gaped in astonishment at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. Gasping out between breaths he said, “Do you want me to?” 

Laughing softly as Adam went a very delicate shade of pink, shoved his hands awkwardly in his pockets, and avoided eye contact, Warlock took pity on his rather vanilla boyfriend. “Actually, I don’t know much more than you do. Got a message to meet with Uncle F. He wanted to see both of us, and wanted me to keep it quiet.”

“Crowley’s... um… Professor guy?” 

Warlock rolled his eyes at the adorable awkwardness. Adam was still a little uncertain about Aziraphale, despite Warlock assuring him otherwise.

“Yes him, Crowley’s partner, you big nancy. C’mon or we’ll be late. Need to get pastries first.” 

“Oh yeah, the food thing! There’s a real fancy place ‘round here, something French sounding.”

Warlock laughed and shoved his phone in front of Adam, where a map was leading them to Maison Bertaux. “Get a wiggle on, and we might be able to grab a table and try some first.”

Rolling his eyes, Adam stretched his legs, keeping up with the taller Warlock. “You and your sweet tooth.”

“Hey I didn’t ruin my tastebuds with a diet of stewed tea and curry.”

The old cobblestone street rang with their cheerful laughter and bickering.

******************************************************

Aziraphale was stress-cleaning. His therapist had recommended a positive physical response to overwhelming anxiety, and cleaning was a far preferable choice to going to the gym. He and Crowley had had their first real fight three days before and the anger, frustration, and guilt were gnawing away at him…. He had been too stubborn to be the first one to reach out. 

As his phone sat silently accusing him on the bench, he wavered between anger and guilt. As one day led into another with no messages from Crowley, he fretted. On the third day, instead of wasting it with more pointless worrying, he cleaned.   
  
While he tidied, he reran the events of that night in his head, wishing he had made other choices, and tried to find a way to reconcile himself with the outcomes of the ones he  **had** made….

_ He had been so looking forward to dinner, they had hardly seen each other lately. Even when they did, Crowley had been so distracted, constantly checking his phone, barely talking and eating not nearly enough. Aziraphale had hoped that a nice dinner at a particularly favourite bistro would give them time to talk. _

_ But when Crowley hadn’t turned up in time for them to make their reservation, nor bothered to call or text to explain, Aziraphale’s frustration had started to simmer. The thought of going out in public, knowing people would watch them, take photos or video, had upset him so much he could feel himself breaking out in a cold nervous sweat.  _

_ The weight of people staring made him feel self conscious. Made him aware that society would assume that someone who looked like him couldn’t possibly deserve to be with someone as gorgeous as Crowley. He could hear the sneers, muttered comments, and pointed glances. Having spent so much of his life being judged by his family, it was a deep visceral response that triggered him unconsciously. Even thinking about it was enough to cause his pulse to race. The later Crowley had gotten, the higher his anxiety had ramped until he was all raw nerves and stress… _

_ It was already bad enough that they had scarcely seen each other, and couldn’t have a private moment without something intruding. Now he was having to cancel dinner and listen to yet more vague apologies and, quite frankly, he was FED UP. _

A loud clatter of feet on the stairs had heralded Crowley’s arrival. “Sorry, Angel, took me longer to evade the bloody hacks. Ready for dinner?”

Aziraphale’s voice had been cold enough to drop the temperature in the room several degrees. “Since our reservation was for 45 minutes ago, I did the polite thing and cancelled.”

Brought up short by this rather unwelcoming response, Crowley had rallied. “Shit, sorry, Angel. Lost track of time. Somewhere else? Sushi…?” He’d trailed off as the unhappy, tense expression on his lover’s face had registered.

Trying to ease the moment, he’d said softly, “Or we could order in, have a quiet night instead.”

“How long is this going to carry on?” Aziraphale had asked tightly, a heavy frown creasing his forehead. “How long do we have to be cheap fodder for any vulture with a phone and an… an insta page thing?” 

He’d chewed on his lip for a moment, “I’m sick of it, Crowley. I hate how we can’t go anywhere, how they invade our privacy!” Glaring at Crowley with a mulish expression he had demanded, “Why won’t you DO something about it?”

Helpless in front of his lover’s distress, Crowley had shrugged, “What do you want me to do? Move to Australia or something?”

“GRRRRGH! Why can’t you take this seriously!?” Flinging his hands in the air Aziraphale had turned away, fists clenched like he wanted to punch something, and Crowley had realised that Aziraphale was genuinely distressed. This was  **more** than his just being late for dinner. It was something deeper, more personal and profound than he had understood.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, nodding, he’d replied with no levity at all, “I’m sorry, Aziraphale, I  **have** fucked this up completely. You’re right, I  **do** need to do something. It’s not fair to you or anyone else. I didn’t want to risk making it worse, but apparently doing nothing isn’t helping either.”

They’d stared at each other, both miserable and uneasy with being at odds but, in the heat of the moment, unable to reach out to ask for the comfort they needed.

“Right… I’ll just head off, then… talk later?” Receiving a curt nod in reply, Crowley had clattered his way down the stairs and out of the shop into the evening drizzle.

_ Aziraphale had stood at the window, watching his fiery-haired lover retreat, wondering why he felt so empty and bitter. As the silence between them had stretched into two, then three days he finally did what he should have done earlier, and picked up his phone. _

_ “Hello, my dear, it’s Dr. Fell. I was wondering if Victor might have an appointment free?” _

************************************************************

Adam stared up at the open first floor windows of the bookshop where very loud, angry classical music was blaring into the Soho morning. As Warlock navigated the security system and led them across the shop, they heard a tuneful deep voice singing in melodic german along with the music.

He poked Warlock in the ribs, “D’you know what it is?”

“Pretty sure it’s Wagner, sounds like part of The Ring Cycle, but it’s about 15 years long so that's as accurate as I can get.” His education had been eclectic, and had included many diplomatic events at opera and orchestra recitals.

“Sounds… angry.” Adam paused at the bottom of the treacherous stairs as there was a heavy thud, and the singing stopped with a clearly audible, “Bloody bollocking hell!”

Eyebrows raised, they grinned at each other and pattered carefully up the stairs, Warlock calling out loudly, “Knock Knock!”

**************************************

Rubbing at the elbow he had just painfully banged after tripping over the vacuum cleaner, Aziraphale started at hearing a cheerful, “Knock Knock,” call out over the music. Only a few people had access to the shop and he was certain it wouldn’t be Crowley, given how they had left things. 

Shaking his hand to try and get the tingles out, aware he was wearing a faded Pride t-shirt, comfortable joggers and a pair of slightly ratty boat shoes that he kept as house shoes, Aziraphale turned to face Warlock and Adam as they bustled in. Envying them their youthful energy, conscious of the streaks of dirt on his hands, he grabbed the remote for the stereo, and turned the music off.

Brushing vainly at his clothes, Aziraphale smiled wryly at the boys who grinned at his dishevelled appearance. “Quite lost track of time. How lovely to see you both. Let me just clean up and get changed. Won’t be a tick, cold drinks in the fridge.”

He bustled off to the bathroom and then the bedroom, while Warlock got a couple of Cokes out of the fridge and Adam wandered about the flat, his experienced eye noting the valuable antiques and artwork. Raising his eyebrows with a quiet whistle as his boyfriend handed him a can beaded with condensation, he whispered, “How much is this place worth, do you think?”

“Apparently, he owns almost the whole street as well. Plus other properties. Got a fancy cottage down south. Tracy is off down there for a weekend soon.”

Aziraphale appeared, looking much tidier. They guiltily turned as he exclaimed over the box generously loaded with treats from Maison Bertaux - several slices of gateaux and cheesecake, lemon meringue pie, and some petit fours. Much domestic clattering of plates and cutlery happened until they were all settled with food and drinks. 

*********************************************

Warlock shucked his footwear, sitting cross legged on the sofa while he and Uncle F debated the merits of their dessert choices. Adam decided to eat and listen, musing on how his normally reticent boyfriend was relaxed and chatty. He clearly liked this older man, felt comfortable with him. Warlock didn’t trust easily, and for good reason, but the two of them had apparently bonded. Adam wasn’t really sure how he felt about that, they had been such a tight group for the last few years, but it was petty and juvenile to be jealous when his boyfriend had so few genuine friends.

_ He remembered something his mother had said once. “Be generous with your love. Most people don’t have enough, and giving them a little can make more difference than you realise. The more you give, the more you may receive.” Adam knew he was a little overprotective of the people he cared about, and that Warlock was more than capable of taking care of himself. _

A gentle nudge brought his attention back to the here and now, and he stole a forkful of the gateaux on Warlock’s plate. “Mmmm, sorry, was thinking. Ooooh this is good cake!”

“Its gateaux, you philistine.” But Warlock smiled as he slid the plate over to Adam, and Uncle F’s blue eyes beamed with fond appreciation at their bickering.

“Ah, I remember being your age and being able to eat anything I liked. Enjoy it while it lasts, dear boys.”

When the plates were scraped clean to sighs of appreciation all around, Adam leaned back against the abundant cushions. “This is a fabulous building. So rare to see something in more or less original condition and so well looked after.”

“Thank you, my dear, it’s been in my family since the early 1800s. I inherited it when my grandfather died. We knocked through to add an extra bedroom, and modernised the plumbing and electrics, but otherwise it’s fairly untouched.”

“Well, it’s nice to see a beautiful building cherished and appreciated properly.” Adam closed his eyes, breathing deeply for a moment, “It has an old, peaceful soul.” He grinned brightly at Uncle F, “Must have some amazing stories to tell. I wish we could hear them.”

_ Aziraphale saw with vivid clarity what Crowley recognised in Adam, even as a young man. He was a kindred spirit, bright and energetic, but still retaining a childlike wonder and joy in the beauty of the world, an openness not yet stifled by the often grinding drudgery of adult life. It made him feel even better about his decision. _

“Perhaps, one day, I might indulge us both, and tell you some of the ones I do know. But that’s not why I asked you both here today.”

He didn’t miss the glance the young men shared. Aware of the tension in their frames, he sat back, loose and easy, watching as they subconsciously picked up on his body language, relaxing. They were cautious and uncertain, but not afraid.

“It has come to my attention that you may soon be in need of investment funds for your share of the design business. I have several shell companies I use for this kind of purpose, and am looking to diversify my portfolio.”

He smiled, amused at his own joke, “You could, if you like, consider me an angel investor.”

Warlock snorted quietly at the pun, “So Crowley  **is** going to retire? Is the timing a coincidence or… ?”

“Entirely coincidental. He was already making plans before that dratted American caused all this unnecessary fuss. Nor does he know of my offer, and I would like it to remain so.”

Adam said thoughtfully, “So what do you get out of this? Normally an angel investor would want shares and some form of return, on a startup that has potential to be a unicorn. You won’t get that from us, so what do you want?”

He felt himself flushing a little under the intense regard from the older man, but held his gaze as an equal until Aziraphale murmured, “Oh, you are good. Well done, Adam.”

Buffing his nails on his shirt, admiring the neat work done by his manicurist, Aziraphale replied, “I want Crowley to be able to walk away from the business, free and clear, knowing everything will be taken care of and he no longer has any responsibility for it or yourselves. I’m prepared to fund your basic expenses for the next three years, plus have funds available for any special projects you may want to develop.”

_ Adam felt his pulse begin to race in shock and excitement. He and Warlock had been discussing their concerns about financing the business, whenever Crowley might retire, and this was generous beyond belief. It was too good to be true. _

“What's the catch?”

“No catch, no tricks. Simply that you cannot contact Crowley or rely on him at all, once you are flying solo, so to speak. I will provide the business with the resources to keep it afloat while your team transitions it into something that is yours.”

_ Adam looked at Warlock, who nodded the tiniest amount. It was an absolute blessing. They had so many ideas - incorporating technology, developing different styles, catering to different markets, sourcing fabrics from the makers, offering sustainable and environmentally kind options. He knew the clients were out there, but the reputation that Crowley had built meant they didn’t often get in front of them. _

“We need to discuss it, all of us. Have you got some paperwork drawn up?”

“Of course, your accountant and solicitor will need to be involved. Where should I email it?”

Warlock piped up, conscious that they didn’t have their own accountant or solicitor yet, “You’ve got mine already.”

“Consider it done. Remember that Crowley absolutely must not know about my part in this.”

“What about Tracy?”

“Oh, she knows already. Whose idea do you think this was?”

****************************************************************

Michael scrolled carelessly through the social media on her phone. Annoyed with having Gabriel underfoot all the time, she had retreated to her office for some necessary down time. Switching to a favourite gossip site (where she hoped Gabriel might one day appear) her brain registered a familiar figure. It was another article about the designer some silly American appeared hell-bent on destroying. He was sitting on a park bench, face turned up to a figure who stood with his back to the camera. A figure with very familiar white-blond hair that was unmistakable to anyone who knew him well.

“Aziraphale, my my my, what have you got yourself into,” she breathed in gleeful delight. Walking to the far wall, she opened her safe, pulled out one of the burner phones she kept, and dialed a number. It rang and went to voicemail. In guttural Russian, she left a coded message, and began to make plans for a trip into the city.

She’d discovered that her mother’s family had a lot of black sheep, scattered about eastern Europe, involved in many dubiously legal activities. She had spent a few years staying with various relatives, putting her financial knowledge to use, helping them fine tune some of their “service offerings.” It had earned her respect, some private income, and the right to call in a few favours.   
  
Until now, she hadn’t needed to….


	35. Choices and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are free to make whatever choice you want, but you are not free from the consequences of the choice.” Anonymous.
> 
> Various choices have been made along the way, and now, like the widening ripples on a pond after a stone has been thrown in, the resulting outcomes begin to be visible,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****************************************************************
> 
> Most delicious of readers - yes a much quicker update - this chapter was far easier to write. But now I am juggling so many plot balls, I'm afraid I'm going to drop one!
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> OMG!! Major thanks as ever to Hatknitter - who makes sure these chapters make sense!
> 
> ***************************************************************

**A few days later**

Aziraphale absentmindedly twitched as his phone beeped, then his brain went into high alert. It was Crowley’s specific message tone, one he hadn’t heard in several days. Not since they’d exchanged stilted, awkward apologies via text, and Crowley had asked for time.

It was a link to one of the more educated news sites, heavy on politics and finance, a bit pretentious for his preference, and certainly nothing he could imagine Crowley reading. Intrigued, he switched his laptop on, his eyes appreciating more screen real-estate for easier reading.

Ah, an opinion piece from one of the few commentators he did appreciate reading, Dr Jelena Waheed. They had met a couple of times at Oxford social functions, and she had impressed him with her forthright and incisive conversation. Settling into his favourite chair, donning reading glasses, Aziraphale read with curiosity.

_________________________________

**_A Modern Moral Quandary_ **

**_Occasionally, I am contacted by someone with a message or a story to tell. The interesting or relevant ones appear here, and so today we feature a noteworthy story about ethics and integrity. What struck me in particular about this story is that I was contacted on behalf of someone who would prefer not to be in the limelight, assuming his work would speak for itself. Circumstances have proved otherwise, and I was asked to tell his side of the story._ **

Anthony J. Crowley of Dark Angel Enterprises. Stylist and Designer extraordinaire, known for his spare minimalist approach, dedication to his craft, and with a reputation as a man not afraid to get his hands dirty on the job.

We meet in his apartment, which embodies everything about his famed design aesthetic, embracing modern concrete brutalism that should feel cold and unwelcoming. An eclectic selection of art offers points of interest, cushions and throws on a sofa that looks invitingly comfortable (it is) and, rather surprisingly, a luxurious array of plants. In particular, several beautiful and obviously treasured bonsai plants sit in places of honour in front of the windows.

He greets me at the door dressed from head to toe in trademark black, crowned with astonishingly flaming-red hair, accessorised with dark sunglasses. Crowley, as he prefers to be called, looks very much the International Man of Mystery. I am ushered into a kitchen bristling with an array of expensive shiny appliances, including the kind of coffee machine you need months of barista training to master. One superb short black later, he gives me the tour, introduces me to his plants.

His hands are deft, stroking a leaf here, testing the soil there, a quick spray with a mister where needed, and I wonder why he is not living somewhere with space for a proper garden. There is a touch of sadness in his expression for a moment, “A famous philosopher once said, ‘We can’t always get what we want’.”

Speaking of people who don’t get what they want, the reason I’m interviewing this fascinating man is because a client of his had a very public tantrum after Crowley declined the opportunity to renovate a mansion she had inherited.

As he lounges in an elegant sprawl on the sofa, blinds down, dimming the light to allow him to remove his sunglasses (light sensitivity that causes migraines), he tells me about his process:

“For a big project where it’s a major refit or renovation, the deal is I go onsite for at least a week, if not longer. Every building has a soul, and until I spend enough time in it, I cannot feel what will or won’t suit it. Being in the space allows me to see how it flows, how people have to exist within it. Some design concepts are only for the looks, but I specifically work with a more organic approach. It has to be a comfortable living space, and going minimal doesn’t always fit.”

He shrugs, “Over the years, we learned the hard way, and have evolved a process. Clients agree to the terms, cost, and details of the contract. It’s explicitly made clear that it is a discovery phase only and there is no guarantee we will take on the job. Sometimes it’s just unfeasible, too expensive, too difficult, or just not viable for all kinds of reasons. Council permits, load bearing problems, access issues.”

However, even if declined, the clients are still left with value for money. A full assessment of the building is made, specific contractors are brought in where necessary, recommendations are made, details on potential issues are highlighted. Practically any other design company could take the document and carry on with the work, such is the level of due diligence provided.

_Aziraphale scanned the rest of the article, familiar enough with Crowley’s methods and the situation to not need to read the rest. It explained in detail what was provided, highlighting all the significant issues and costs involved without giving away confidential information. He skipped to the conclusion._

It’s fair to say that, contractually, Crowley and Dark Angel Enterprises provided exactly what they said they would. Given the scale of the work required, there was still a significant effort involved, well worth the amount charged, even notwithstanding the years of experience Crowley has applied, and the unique design approach he brings to the table.

In his words, “Not only was the scale of the job so large and detailed that it would be ruinously expensive, but it is, quite simply, a beautiful heritage building with years of history, and it would go against everything I hold dear to renovate it into something soulless and cold. It’s Listed, and the permits and approvals alone could take years to get sorted.” 

“Did I want a _pièce de résistance_ like that with my name on it? Yeah, absolutely. But I value my integrity and ethics more. I could not bring myself to desecrate the soul of that beautiful building.”

Crowley speaks with passion and an endearing enthusiasm for his work, utterly professional, totally transparent, and contractually sound. Having spent over a year renovating my own house, I understand how easy it is for this kind of project to go wildly off the rails. I am impressed with his total commitment to providing his clients with what they need, even if, as in this case, it means passing up what might have been the opportunity of his career.

How refreshing it is to find someone willing to stand by their own personal values, especially when his client chose to go to the media with a very one-sided story. A modern moral quandary indeed. Hopefully, I can help to level the scales a little.

As I leave, Crowley presses a potted plant into my hands. “It’s an Amazon Elephant’s Ear, needs a bit more light than it’s getting here. I’ll email you details on how to look after it.”

Bob now resides on my desk at home, already looking a bit perkier. I really hope you get to have that garden of your dreams, Crowley.

**_Dr Jelena Waheed (and Bob)_ **

___________________________________

Surprised to find his face wet with the track of hot tears, Aziraphale took his glasses off and brushed them away. Crowley was many things - difficult, complicated, volatile - but he was also patient, generous, funny, honest and, above all, kind.

He had asked for time, and had certainly delivered a decisive rebuttal. Sadly aware that the people gleefully reading the trashy cheap shots were never likely to come across such an insightful response, Aziraphale picked up his phone, trembling slightly with nervousness, and pressed to dial Crowley’s number.

It rang and rang, and for a moment he thought it would go to voicemail. Then Crowley answered, sounding distracted, “Hey, Angel, hang on a sec, willya?”

There was a loud clattering, some scraping, water running and some other noises, then he came back on the line, “Sorry, caught me in the middle of something. What’s up?” His voice was friendly but guarded, lacking its usual warmth, and it hurt Aziraphale a little to hear it knowing he was partly the reason.

“Thank you for sending me the article, it was very interesting. I thought… perhaps… you might like to catch up over dinner. Give us a chance to… talk?”

The silence was heavy for several long moments then his lover sighed, “Actually, I’ve just put some lasagne in the oven. Bring a nice white with you, something fancy? Feel like something light.”

“Lasagne? Crowley it must be nearly thirty degrees out!”

“Got aircon, Angel, and, well, felt like some comfort food.”

“… Oh….”

_When Aziraphale turned up with a very expensive bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc, Crowley raised his eyebrows, grinned, and put the bottle aside. Aziraphale found himself sighing, “I’m sorry, my darling, so sorry,” against softly demanding lips. For a moment, all was right in the world._

****************************************************

Brian settled his headphones securely, made sure his mic was in range and sufficient snacks and energy drinks were at hand. Tonight his guild had plans for an epic rampage and he was looking forward to wreaking virtual havoc.

If it so happened, along the way, that he private-messaged a certain player with a coded comment or two… well, no one was going to notice, in the flurry of activity, with forty-odd players battling it out online for a couple of hours.

_Much later, he activated several security protocols and a VPN, logged on to the dark web where his contact had provided suggestions for lucrative… fishing spots…._

_Grateful for the energy drinks, he began writing scripts, seeing who might be willing to bite, and what their price might be for intel._

****************************************************

**A couple of days later.**

“Hey Luka, don’t let the boss hear your phone going off, ja?” Hans nudged his shoulder on the way out of the staff room, “You know how he gets.”

Hans was gone before he had a chance to reply, and when Eric realised **which** phone he must have heard, his hands trembled in their haste to get his locker open. Making sure no one was watching, he opened the secret pocket in the bottom of his backpack. Sure enough, his burner phone was flashing several messages.

Eric had changed his identity. He was now Luka, a German national working in Prague as a concierge at a fancy hotel. His fluency in English, in particular, had secured him the role, and it was a good hunting ground for future employer prospects.

This phone was his one link to his dark web contacts. Not trusting Carmine to let him go easily, he had a guy with a watch on the family activities. Her attention had been focused on her petty attack on the British designer, and Eric had decided to keep an eye on the situation. His watchdog had sent several links of interest, including an article defending Crowley’s decision. Eric needed a secure encrypted device to access the data, so home was his next destination.

Having to first endure dinner and some socialising with his flatmates, he eventually pleaded an early start the next day and headed back to his room. He locked his door, pulled his laptop out, engaged the necessary security protocols, activated his VPN, and logged on.

Carmine had posted another ‘poor little rich girl has dream home hopes dashed’ article. Eric knew that if her lawyers **could** do the necessary damage they would, quietly and efficiently. So this public performance must be her only way to lash out.

Looked like someone on Crowley’s team was fishing for intel. She had unlimited resources and was vindictive enough to want to drag this out as long as possible. 

Angry at how this spiteful spoiled woman was indulged, he decided a little action was required. Using one of his throwaway aliases, he emailed her father with some copies of extremely incriminating documents he had tucked away for a rainy day. 

**“Shut Carmine and her little publicity stunt down or these will get leaked to certain US officials. This is your only warning. BTW, your last mistress tested positive for chlamydia. I’d get that checked.”**

Another message was sent off in response to Brian’s data crawler, channelled through several different identities. 

**“Tell your boss she should back off, give it a few days. Nice code BTW.”**

*******************************************

Andrew Zuigiber stared at his screen, at first in confusion, then with rising anger. Who the FUCK dared threaten him or his family? Who could possibly know about that silly bitch he’d cast aside once she stopped being entertaining? His own test results had already come back positive, much to his private physician’s concern.

He trusted his staff. Those who weren’t completely loyal were terrified of… consequences. They were paid well to keep their silence, and made to sign complicated NDA that were as ironclad as his lawyers could make them.

_Carmine was… well… she was a problem. All her life, he had made up for his constant absences with a tendency to give her whatever she asked for. Clever, but not always smart about it, she was not reliably discreet, but there was no way she could have known about his medical status._

_They hadn’t been hacked, as far as he was aware, but someone inside the organisation might have found a way… someone who no longer worked for him… they wouldn’t dare do this otherwise?_

Putting that aside to simmer for a moment, he looked at the documents that were attached to the email. Fuck, his darling daughter had bribed a DA and she was stupid enough to do it via her personal email and bank accounts. It was enough evidence to get her in front of a jury, at the very least.

Furious, he called his darling daughter, snarling at the hapless assistant who answered the call. “Eric, get hold of Carmine and tell her to get her ass in my office ASAP.”

Her current assistant (whose name was Jonathan) wondered, not for the first time, who the hell this Eric guy was, before beginning the delicate task of tracking down his temperamental boss and passing on the message from her father.

*************************************************

_Predictably, Carmine threw a massive tantrum when told to back off. Ranting about how she deserved to have the house she wanted, and no one should say no to her ever. Her father waited, his patience dropping as quickly as the level of bourbon in his glass._

“CARMINE, SHUT THE HELL UP!” he rapped out when she finally paused to fill her own glass.

Startled, she looked at him, judging the heat of his anger, for once wisely doing what she was told.

“What, exactly, is the point of this stupid stunt? If you want this guy to do the work, slagging him in the media doesn’t seem the best approach? He could sue for libel. Have you even looked at the report he wrote? It would be cheaper to bulldoze the place and start from scratch.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, a dead giveaway that an excuse or a lie would be the next thing she spoke. He leaned on the front of his desk, arms crossed, giving her the look that quelled almost everyone into silent submission. As she opened her mouth to speak, he arched an eyebrow in pointed judgement. 

Looking down and away, she muttered reluctantly, “Eric read it, he told me the summary. But I wanted HIM, Raven loves his style and it would have been perfect… ”

“You wanted a bloody holiday house for your boyfriend. **That’s** what this is all about?” He picked up a handful of papers off his desk, flicked through, found the one he wanted, and slid his reading glasses on.

“And I quote, ‘Just dealing with the under-house drainage alone could potentially reveal fundamental infrastructure issues with the foundations. Rats have exposed much of the wiring, borer damage is visible in several places and, quite frankly, it’s a fire trap. For it to be both safe and liveable, it would have to be stripped to the bare bones and rebuilt from the inside out. Given that it’s a Listed building, permits and approvals would be required for every step, at least doubling the time it would take to complete. The scale and complexity of the work involved is more than Dark Angel Enterprises is prepared to manage. I wish you the best of luck with this project, but we will not be accepting offers to be further involved. Yours, Anthony J. Crowley’.”

He stared at his wide-eyed daughter for a moment. “His conservative estimate was twenty million pounds for an entire refit. That’s about twenty-five million US.” He tossed the papers at her in annoyance, “Better to burn the bloody thing down and claim insurance, assuming you bothered. Go away, Carmine, before I decide to ship you over there to live in that shit hole.” Turning away to fill up his glass again, he let the heavy silence hang oppressively.

“Daddy…?”

He held up a hand, the muscles in his back rigid under the lines of his shirt. “No, Carmine, not this time. You’ve crossed a line and finally gone too far. Sort your shit out, or I **will** cut you off. Understand?”

Finally understanding she had reached the limits of her father’s patience, Carmine said quietly “I’m sorry Daddy.” As she left the room, she smiled to herself. _Yes, the place was insured. Why hadn’t she thought of that… ?_

************************************************

**Several days later**

Aziraphale lay on his back in the ridiculously huge bed, listening to Crowley breathe softly beside him. Morning light angled through the windows behind him, making the pale grey stone walls less looming and oppressive. While it was definitely Crowleys’s signature design style, it didn’t feel like a home. More like a show piece.

Crowley seemed happy enough in his flat, but it sapped Aziraphale’s energy in odd ways. He understood, now, about a building or a place having a soul. This one felt like it took, rather than gave. But the bed was luxuriously comfortable, the sheets buttery soft with the charcoal tones showing off Crowley’s flaming locks and his own pale skin.

He wondered why Crowley didn’t move somewhere more comfortable. Perhaps it was the best showcase for his work for any potential clients? Shuddering at the thought of people wanting their living spaces to look and feel like this, he jumped when a sleepy voice rasped, “Stop thinking so loud, Angel.”

Smiling, Aziraphale rolled over, tucking the pillow under his head so he could watch the slow process of Crowley dragging himself to full consciousness. 

“Sorry, darling, I was thinking about how much I hate your flat.” He paused, “Oops, I didn’t actually mean to say that out loud.”

Crowley flapped a hand at him, muttering, “S’okay, knew you would hate it. Like your place… feels like home.”

_Oh… was that a hint? Should he say something?_

Rolling over, stretching with a satisfied groan Crowley said, “Shame it's too small for both of us, and a garden would be nice. Waffles or french toast?”

Stunned at the casually confident assumption they would move in together at some point, Aziraphale failed to notice the question until rudely poked, “Hmmm... what?”

“Breakfast, Angel, do you want waffles or french toast?”

“Oh… chef’s choice, whatever is most convenient for you.”

“Warlock recommended a new waffle place we could try if you like?” Crowley noted the frown that received. “Or I can pop out to the bakery for some Brioche, and make french toast. Maybe scrounge up some strawberries?”

“With maple syrup? The proper kind?”

Leaning forward to steal a kiss, Crowley murmured, “But of course. Only the very best for my Angel.”

Glancing up through his eyelashes like the shameless coquette he was, Aziraphale slid over to press himself against his lover, claiming a deep hungry kiss. “The **very** best, you say?” 

“Mmmmm want to work up an appetite first, love?”

As hands stroked and caressed, mouths exchanged kisses and sighs and their bodies rocked slowly together, food was forgotten until Aziraphale exclaimed delightedly, “We could stay in bed all day, and get all the food we want delivered! With your phone thingy?”

 _Crowley smiled at his impossibly decadent and extravagant lover and pressed a kiss to the end of his cute nose._ _  
_ _  
_ “We could, but it's not nearly as good as mine.” He gasped as his cock was taken gently in hand and Aziraphale giggled then licked his lips.  
  
“Only the **very** best for me!”

****************************************************************

Sometime later, when they were both well fed, Crowley pottered with his plants, eventually joining Aziraphale who was leaning on the balcony railing, enjoying the afternoon sunshine while sipping some iced tea. 

London was unseasonably hot, and even Aziraphale was grateful for the aircon and cool stone walls of his flat. But the sunshine also needed to be appreciated, so Crowley bought the jug out to refresh his angel’s glass, and joined him in some sun basking.

They talked idly about the view, wondering what the people five floors below them on the pavement were about. The comfortable, easy chatter of two friends, the kind Crowley had missed. 

“Is it me? The reason why you don’t want to go out? Or something else?” He asked the question lightly, in keeping with the rest of the conversation, but a sudden heavy silence descended. He heard Aziraphale swallow, but kept his gaze forward, giving him space to process.

“I know you hate the fuss, but it's been a week now with nothing new. No one is camped out downstairs anymore, still getting a few people recognise me but…” he shrugged. “What can I do, Aziraphale? Talk to me, please, love.”

_Gripping the wrought iron balustrade with both hands, Aziraphale closed his eyes, breathing in and then longer on the out. He’d known this conversation was coming, anticipated it. Which somehow made it worse, not better. How did he explain something so intangible and problematic that he barely understood it himself?_

“It’s… complicated… . I’m not really even sure how to explain it. All those people, looking at me, staring. It makes my skin crawl.” He shuddered in visceral response but carried on, hesitantly. “Some of it… my self esteem issues don’t help. My family… ,” He shook his head “Victor has been helping, but… I’m sorry Crowley, I just… can’t. Not yet.”

“Don’t need to apologise, Angel. It's my mess, I’m just sorry you got caught up in it.” Stepping close enough to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple, he rested his chin on one solid shoulder, “I need you to know I love you, Aziraphale. That's between you and me, no one else matters. No one.”

“Oh, my darling, I do know. But sometimes… well… the voices in my head, they aren’t kind. I’m still learning how to manage that. When I think about whether Gabriel or Michael saw some of those dreadful photos… oh… they would be so very angry.”

“It’s your life, Aziraphale, not theirs. You are an adult and get to make your own choices. Or mistakes. Which I hope I’m not one of.” Crowley pulled back and Aziraphale turned, eyes wide with surprise.

“Crowley! No! You are the best thing in my life! Oh… I’m doing this all wrong.” His plump bottom lip quivered.  
  
_Oh fuck, Angel, killing me here!_ “Hey hey, s’okay, Angel. I get it, family messes you up. Hard to get past that, I know.”

Eyes shiny with unshed tears, Aziraphale smiled shakily at him, “The Fell name, its old and the family considers itself mildly distinguished. Very stiff-upper-lip and all that. Quite proper. No hint of scandal. Gabriel… ”

“Is a self righteous prick. Even worse, he’s been using your family money to cover up all sorts of dirty deeds. We found all sorts of interesting things about his little adventures over in America. Mike has all the juicy details, and it's quite the rap sheet.”

“Thats… oh… does Michael know?”

“Be surprised if she didn’t, but she seems to have kept her nose clean. Smarter than him, anyway.”

“Any average toddler is smarter than Gabriel, dearest. He’s charming and personable, and pretty, if you like the type.” 

“Oooh, mutual bitch session. Shall we paint our nails and drink cocktails while slagging off your fucking awful family?” Crowley fluttered his fingers all camp and wiggly in invitation. 

“Can we invite Tracy?”

Crowley mock-groaned in despair, “Go on then, but I am NOT going to be held responsible for whatever happens!”

As Aziraphale went in search of his phone, Crowley called out, “Tell her to bring lots of snacks.”

* * *

_Tracy arrived with Warlock in tow, apparently they had been shopping in town. Crowley eyed the discreet plain brown paper bag Warlock tucked away, turning away to hide his grin. Kids these days….Adam and Pepper turned up later, bringing bags of takeaways, cheerfully charged to the company card by an unrepentant Adam._

_“Guaranteed to talk shop at_ **_some_ ** _point, it's a legit business expense!”_

_As the afternoon stretched into evening, the flat was filled with laughter, music, the hum of various conversations. Crowley ended up on a pile of cushions on the floor, with both hands and feet being painted with an assortment of nail polish colours. Aziraphale joined in the fun, with an encompassing knowledge of the rudest cocktail names, and many of the recipes._

_When at last Crowley herded the last of the revellers out the door, he took one look at the mess, said Fuck It and fell with relief into bed next to his already snoring partner. Aziraphale had rather uncharacteristically starfished face down, taking up most of the space in the oversized bed._  
_  
_ As Crowley arranged himself, closing his eyes, chasing the dreams of sleep….he had one final fleeting thought….If the pair of them had gone viral, for whatever reason...how would Aziraphale have reacted….? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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>   * Feedback
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	36. Commissioned Art for this Fic (not a chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****************************  
> Just a note to say I *am* about halfway through the next chapter - its being difficult.
> 
> I also got bitten by the Sherlock bug and my muse dropped TWO fics into my brain that insisted on being written, so thats added to the delay.
> 
> Its getting there SLOWLY!
> 
> *****************************

I commissioned this from Alex at TheKaskProject and I just wanted to share this GLORIOUSNESS with you

  
[Tumblr Link to the Artist](https://thekaskproject-art.tumblr.com/)


	37. Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Gabriel have adventures, and shenanigans ensue. Carmine gets told no and doesn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****************************************************
> 
> Most delicious of readers - the plot is beginning to thicken (and possibly curdle).
> 
> Apologies for the delay on this, I got sucked into writing some Sherlock fic by my muse but I needed a break from this chapter to see what was wrong with it (I was trying to fit too much into it). So here you go...
> 
> Again - THANKS to my fabulous and patient editor Hatknitter for working her magic
> 
> [Feel free to yell at me on Tumblr](https://br-nz.tumblr.com/)

As the door closed behind her, blocking out the city noises, the precise metallic click of Michael’s stiletto heels made a rhythmic counterpoint to the annoying music blaring from the speakers. Pulling the power plug of the stereo out with a sigh of relief, she walked slowly to the center of the room and waited. One expensively-clad toe tapping with slow impatience against the grimy floor, she gazed around the shithole of a bar her cousins had chosen for the meeting.

Repressing a hiss of annoyance, she turned to face the peeved voice as its owner appeared from the back, his heavy Russian accent making him sound even angrier. 

“Who turned my music off? Bloody kids… next time break your arm…” He descended into muttered Russian curses, but stopped abruptly when he saw the tall strawberry-blonde-haired woman clad in an immaculate white suit, lips pursed in judgement under designer sunglasses.

“Well… hello, pretty lady….” He eyed her up and down, licking his lips suggestively as he walked around the bar, “We are closed, but I would… happily… service you.”

Michael pointedly slid her glasses off, tucked them into her clutch, gave the rather redolent man a visual once-over, finishing up with an unimpressed sneer on her aristocratic face.

In superbly precise and thoroughly filthy Russian, she cursed him out succinctly, casting his entire family history into disrepute and comparing him unfavourably to the rotten corpse of a rabid dog and other highly offensive and viciously repulsive things.

As she spoke, in that icy controlled tone, she stalked forward, one sinister click after another, until he backed around the corner of the bar, babbling apologies in at least three languages. Waving a hand sharply to cut him off, she spoke this time in her most obnoxious RP, “My cousins, where are they?” Wiping a finger along the sticky bar with a grimace, “I assume you have some back rooms in this godawful excuse for an establishment.”  _ It wasn’t a question. _

Understanding dawned on the luckless proprietor, “Oh, a thousand profound apologies Arkhangelsk…. I was not expecting … uhhh …. Your cousins, yes, follow me, back room.” Rolling her eyes at the nickname her family had bestowed, which had become her reluctant calling card, she nodded once and followed him.

They passed through a warehouse stacked with pallets of empty bottles, bladders full of cheap vodka and schnapps, ready to be decanted and onsold under more expensive labels. As she suspected, the pub was a front, no doubt for money laundering and other ‘family business’ services. 

As the unidentified barman waved her towards a half-open door from which terrible europop blasted too loudly, she pushed the door open to see her two cousins. Hastur was sporting a stuffed green frog on his head, laughing hysterically at Ligur, who was mincing around with some coloured lizard on his head. They were either drunk, high, or more likely both, and Michael sighed in irritation.

No one knew what they were to each other (or cared to) but Hastur and Ligur came as a pair. Hastur’s sickly pale skin, white-blond hair that stuck up messily, and eyes so dark brown that, in some light, they came across as black contrasted against Ligur’s dark brown skin, startlingly pale grey eyes, and shoulder-length locks under the lizard … they were the Odd Couple.

Yet they worked together as a pair brilliantly. Their specialty was lurking, observing people, losing themselves in a crowd, staking out a building for days if need be. It was useful work that kept them regularly employed, although Michael strongly suspected Ligur was far smarter than he let on, and they probably had a nice extortion racket or similar on the side. She approved. They did their jobs well, didn’t make waves, made themselves useful, but were careful not to get obviously involved. It was a clever strategy, smart and savvy. Michael guessed no one else had joined the dots as she had, so she awarded them the respect another professional deserved, and didn’t out them.

“Oh look, Ligur, it's the Archangel Michael in all her avenging fury. Have you been a bad boy?” he giggled, slinging an arm loosely over his partner’s shoulders, “If you’ve been a bad boy, you should tell me….” 

Ligur steered both of them to the shabby sofa. “C’mon, mate, don’t piss the nice lady off. Got a job for us, she has.” 

Hastur giggled again, “Nothing nice about her. Queen Bitch, that one…. Hey, who stole my drink?” He waved a hand in the air, slipping sideways until he was lying across Ligur’s lap. 

“Are you done?” She eyed the battered armchair, chose to perch delicately on the very edge of the seat, steadily watching the two idiots realise she meant business. Ligur removed the ridiculous stuffed animal hats (Hastur whined and cradled the frog to his chest, muttering, “My Precious,”) and poked Hastur til he sat up. Eventually, they settled like unruly students in front of the Headmistress.

Abruptly, Hastur threw off the wastrel facade, looked at her with his familiar expression of calculated cunning. They were both sporting generic lowlife London accents, sounding like they had lived here all their lives.

“We was on holiday. Having a luverly time of it too. Wotcha got for us? Better be something… good….” He rubbed his fingers and thumbs together, “Love me some filthy lucre.”

Taking the hint, she reached into her purse, pulling out a fat brown envelope.

“I have a cousin who lives in Soho. I want him watched. Where he goes, who with. Who visits, how often. You know the drill.”

Ligur said, in his soft deep voice, “He isn’t … family … is he, Michael?”

She laughed a short harsh bark, “Mine, not yours. He’s the one with all the money. Gabriel fucked it up somehow and he turned the tap off. I need… leverage… intel… something.”

The two men glanced at each other, Ligur nodded and said, “How long?”

“Two weeks initially. There’s 5G to get you started. Give me something good, and I’ll double it.”

Hastur went to reach for the cash, but Ligur grabbed his shoulder, “Good?”

She shrugged, “I’ll know it when I see it. You in?”

“Just surveillance… nothing else…?”

“For now,” she smiled with her cold dead eyes, giving nothing away.

“How do we contact you?” Ligur, ever the professional.

A cheap burner phone was retrieved from her clutch. “It has my number on it and the address. It's a bookshop in Soho. I haven’t been there in years. Upload the data to the IP address I have texted already. I will be back in a week.”

She stood and handed the cash over to the eager Hastur, who riffled the notes under his thumb. “Luverly doing business with you, Michael dearest.” 

She muttered “Grebanyye pridurki*” leaving them to it. As she stalked through the bar, she snapped at the bartender, “Next time, have the good vodka out, da?”

_ (*Fucking arseholes) _

************************************************************

Carmine glared at Not Eric with irritation, “How many said no?”

Jonathan chewed on his lip for a moment, “All of them?”

“What the fuck is  **wrong** with these people?” She threw her hands in the air, then closed them into fists, “ARRRGGGHHHH!!”

“Designers?” queried Jonathan.

“No! Goddamned uptight British assholes! They should be calling ME, begging for the chance to be considered! Sending me champagne, dinner invitations.” Shaking her fists like an irritated toddler she glared at him, “Like any good American who knows how the game is played. Heathens!”

Thinking about some of the replies he had received, Jonathan winced, “Ummm, apparently the British have a different understanding of the rules than you do, I think? Something called ‘fair play’ was referenced more than once.”

Astonished that he had ventured a response, Carmine blinked. “What?”

“Perhaps if I read one reply that more or less explains their point of view?” She shrugged, so he opened up the email, cleared his throat with a nervous glance at his boss, and began to read.   
  
**“Tell your stupid bitch of a boss that no one trusts her after that stunt she pulled with Crowley. He might be a perfectionist arsehole on a good day, but he does good work. Respected, trusted, reliable. He plays fair.**

**No one with any credibility in the industry would take that job on, not even if you promised three times whatever Crowley quoted. Anyone who does is either a complete idiot or has no idea what they are getting themselves into. Or both.”**

Her eyes narrowed, she snarled, “Did they sign it?”

Jonathan sighed, “No, it was sent via a throwaway email address. But whoever it was said what everyone else said, just less politely.”

“Hmmmm,” she tapped one scarlet fingernail against her lips and smiled slowly. “Alright, find some hungry young designers just starting out who need to make a splash. Dangle some bait, see if we get any nibbles …”

There was something rather unnerving about that smile that made Jonathan extremely uncomfortable “But …?” 

“Just do it, Eric! Pronto!”

“Yes ma’am.” She liked it when he said that, so he reserved it for when he was  **most** pissed off with her. She never noticed.

*****************************************************************

**FOUR WEEKS LATER, APPROXIMATELY**

Cursing the ill-fitting jeans and oversized hoodie he had picked up from a local op-shop, Gabriel sat slumped in the train seat, hood hiding his face. He was following Michael, who had been visiting London with unusual regularity. She’d been passing it off as financial stuff he didn’t need to be involved with, which might well be true. But he was bored and curious.   
  
Michael was at the other end of the carriage, engrossed in her phone like bloody always. He stared out of the window, keeping a peripheral eye out for when she stood up. His sister was easily noticeable, clad in that ridiculous white pantsuit. As Stockwell station was announced, she rose to exit. Luckily, a couple of other guys got off, so Gabriel hunched over and lurked behind them. 

Grateful for the convenience of an Oyster card, he tapped in, then pretended to stare at the departures board while following his sister’s neatly coiffured head as she headed to the North Line platform. Jostled by the crowd, he held his ground, careful to keep people between them as they waited for the next train. Another change at Elephant and Castle then, finally, at Lambeth North, she headed for the stairs and up into the daylight.

Merging with the morning crowds, he followed her down Kennington Road until she turned into a dingy alleyway. Catching himself in time, he noted the location, wandered on, pretending to look at his phone as if following directions. Heading into a chain clothing shop of the kind he would never normally grace, he bought a much nicer sweater and a baseball cap, putting the nasty green hoodie in the bag.

Feeling vaguely presentable, and with a viable reason for being in the area hanging from his left hand, he found a cafe with a view of the alleyway entrance. Pleasantly surprised at the quality of the coffee, he succumbed to the temptations of a slice of black forest gateaux, reminding himself to go for a run to work it off.  _ Couldn’t let himself get soft, out in the countryside. _

After 20 minutes or so, Michael appeared, waited on the sidewalk until a car slid to a stop in front of her. Gabriel waited several minutes ensuring the coast was clear. He was pretty sure she hadn’t spotted him, but she was clever.

He requested another slice of cake to go, settled the bill, and casually wandered up the street, across and down again, ducking into the same alleyway.   
  
Wrinkling his nose at the smell of rancid garbage, he eyed up the buildings around him. Mostly back entrances to the shops on the street.  _ Why would she go in the back? _ Ahhh… the open door of a warehouse? He poked his head in, confused at pallets of booze. A pub? Who needed that much vodka anyway?

Completely forgetting that he was trespassing, Gabriel walked forward, overwhelmed by curiosity.  _ What on earth was she involved with?  _ A firm grip on one shoulder shoved him face-forward into a large crate, twisting his wrist painfully. “Hey! Ow … Stop! I wasn’t doing anything!” 

A waft of heavily garlicky breath made him wrinkle his nose. “Sneaking around, poking nose in where it's not wanted. Who are you? Why you here?” 

Seized by desperate inspiration, Gabriel relaxed and said, “Michael sent me. She … forgot something …” 

“Turn around, let me see your face.” His captor let him go, and stepped back. “Name!” he demanded with a harsh Russian accent. “Gabriel,” he replied with his most American twang. “I’m her brother.” 

From behind him, Gabriel heard the distinctive metallic scrape of a Glock slide being racked. He swallowed, putting his hands up, “I’m unarmed.” 

A voice full of London street swagger responded, “I am, me old china. Come over here, into the light. Hastur, check his eyes.” 

Gabriel arrogantly stared down at the pale, shabby man with nicotine-stained teeth who grinned foully as he walked towards him, the smelly Russian having disappeared. “Ah ah ahhh, be a good boy for Hastur now, show us your pretty eyes.” 

Opening them wide, he tilted his face to the sun for a long moment, “Happy now?” 

The man with the gun asked, “Hastur?” 

“Da, eto malen'kiy prints.” 

_ Why do they call me The Little Prince? Because my eyes are lilac? He had picked up a smattering of Russian from Michael and her mother, and apparently remembered some. _

“Michael didn’t say anything about a brother turning up…, did she, Hastur?” As the man spoke, sounding amused, “He should know better than turning up, unexpected-like … might get himself … into trouble …” He walked into view, a tall, solidly-built, dark-skinned man with shockingly pale eyes.

Gabriel stammered, “It's a surprise … a test … security check.” He shrugged, desperately wanting to put his arms down. “You know how she is.” He glanced nervously at the gun, “Can you put that away, maybe?”

“What, this?” He brandished it. “Bloody Yank, like, you should be used to having a gun in your face.”    
  
Gabriel stared down the barrel in terror, “Born here, I’m English. Please don’t ….”

There was a  _ phhuttt _ noise, something small bounced off Gabriel's chest, and the man with the scary pale eyes said quietly, “Bang.”

_ Realising he was in way over his head, for once Gabriel made a sensible decision. Maybe if he told the truth (as he saw it) they would … listen… or at least … not hurt him? _

* 

Ligur sat back, letting Hastur do the creepy smarmy thing he did so well. It was clearly getting on Gabriel’s nerves and Ligur wanted him unsettled, if only for the entertainment value. Dumb arse couldn’t lie convincingly for shit, and Michael would never treat family so… rudely. She gave her respect grudgingly, but Ligur knew they had earned it.

So … what did this American idiot want? Perhaps a little of the good vodka to relax him? Then maybe some of the stronger stuff … he looked like a man who would talk under the influence. Ligur was more than happy to give him  _ every _ opportunity and a willing audience.

*   
  
As Gabriel snored loudly, passed out on the grubby sofa, Ligur confirmed that the payment they had extorted out of him had gone through to their holding account. Banking apps on your phone were a gift to the underworld.

Hastur leaned on his shoulder with his chin, looking down at the phone, “Should’ve taken him for more.” Having sat through the American’s drunk and intensely homophobic ranting and narcissistic judgements, neither of them were particularly impressed with their very distant cousin or his close-minded attitudes. 

“Didn’t sound like he had more, and we just doubled our take for the day. Free and clear n’all.” Ligur sighed as he looked at their visitor, who had just farted extremely loudly. “C’mon, lets get rid of this idiot.” He looked at Hastur with a slow smile, “Got plans for this evening, me.”

*   
  
Gabriel woke up several hours later on a filthy mattress in a deserted warehouse. The place stank of stale piss and bird shit and something that might have been a decomposing body. Fortunately it wasn’t his, and as he staggered out into the predawn chill, his hangover hit him with absolutely no forgiveness.

When he eventually arrived home, he was in such a state that his story of being mugged was believed by anyone who saw him. Michael spent the next three days smiling, which Gabriel managed to avoid by retreating to his rooms, coming out only for food and painkillers.

She had no idea what had really happened, but was so delighted by the outcome she really wasn’t too bothered by the details.

Gabriel eventually remembered to check his bank account details and saw a five thousand pound transfer to an unknown account on the day of his ‘incident,’ as he had taken to calling it. Vague memories of convincing his unsavoury cousins to do a little breaking and entering on his behalf hopefully justified nearly draining his personal savings account.

************************************************************

Crowley’s head whipped around at the sound of a loud whistle as he closed the door to the bookshop. Logan waved him over from the doorway of his shop, so Crowley jogged over, breath fogging in the morning chill.

The barbershop was empty of customers, but Crowley kept his voice low, “Can’t stay too long, just popping out for some pastries. What’s up?”

Logan pulled out his phone and flicked through a series of pictures of a couple of men, one very pale and one dark, casually loitering in different areas, smoking, talking, drinking coffee. There was something slightly…  _ off… _ about them, but he couldn’t say exactly what it was. Logan watched his expression as he switched back and forward between shots.   
  
“Few of us seen these guys hanging around, just in the last couple of weeks. Doing a pretty good job of it, but they don’t quite fit in. Got noticed. Wanted to let you know.”

Crowley felt his good mood evaporate. They had taken precautions in the hope they wouldn’t be needed. 

“Fuck,” he said with quiet vehemence. “Send me those, will you? Any others as well. I’ll have to talk to Mike. Don’t say anything to Aziraphale - don’t want to worry him.”

Logan’s face was grim as he took his phone back, “Do you want us to … take care of those two?”

Shaking his head, Crowley said in an equally grim tone, “No, we have to let this play out. These two are pawns. It's the chess player we are after.”

“We’ll keep an eye out, let you know. We care about him too.”

*   
  


When Crowley returned with bags of pastries, a hot coffee, and a caramel mocha, it took a while for Aziraphale to notice how distracted he was. Something had happened in between him leaving the bookshop and coming back, something that had him nervously checking his phone when he thought Aziraphale wasn’t looking.

He knew he had to give Crowley the benefit of the doubt for the moment. It might have nothing to do with… them…. But still, he couldn’t help the flare of anxiety that had his heart racing, his mind instantly throwing up all sorts of disaster scenarios. Afraid to ask what was wrong and more afraid of the answer, he wavered, uncertain and uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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	38. Vignettes over a couple of months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Various little events that happen over the next few weeks or months.
> 
> A little plot here, a little plot there, boil boil toil and trouble.... :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***************************************************************
> 
> Delicious Readers!
> 
> The plot custard is simmering nicely :) For those who need warnings, there WILL BE ANGST IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!
> 
> As ever - SHOWERING @Hatknitter with copious thanks for her endless patience in teaching me how to use a comma properly!
> 
> [Feel free to yell at me on Tumblr](https://br-nz.tumblr.com/)
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> **********************************************************

“Oh!” Aziraphale sounded genuinely surprised, and Crowley wandered out of the kitchen to investigate.   
  
Leaning over the back of the chair, he licked at one ear making its owner giggle, “What’s up, Angel?”

“Well, oh, this is rather embarrassing really,” but he sounded breathlessly delighted. “I’ve been invited to an Awards Dinner at Oxford!”

“Pfffft,” snorted Crowley, sliding onto his lap. “An evening full of stuffed shirts, average wine, and lukewarm dinners. Can’t see the appeal, myself.”

“Well, you are not wrong in that rather pithy assessment, dearest. But, you see, I’m the recipient. Services rendered and all that.” He had that utterly adorable glow on that Crowley was helpless to resist, so he leaned forward with a congratulatory kiss.

“Are you allowed a plus one, Angel?” and Aziraphale grinned his most bastard smirk.   
  
“I’m the recipient, darling, the Guest of Honour. Who is going to say no to me?”

“When is it? Gotta make sure my calendar is clear.” Crowley was offloading more and more to the kids, but was still active in the business. It was quite a time-consuming process to extract himself from a company he had built from the ground up.

“Oh, ages away. Not until November.” Aziraphale smiled up at him, “Don’t worry, I’ll organise everything. You just have to turn up and look gorgeous.”

“Won’t we have to book a hotel room and stuff?” Crowley was already starting to plan out the logistics. “Guess I should leave the Bentley behind and get the train.”

“Not to worry. I own a hotel with a private suite that’s always available for me,” Aziraphale said serenely. “There is secure parking, and we can stay as long as you like.”

Realising he was staring in shock, Crowley said hesitantly, “You… own a hotel… in Oxford?”

“Oxford, Bristol, Edinburgh, and two in London. All small boutique ones, catering to specific clientele. Very discreet. Been in the family for several generations.” He shrugged, “My business manager takes care of the details.”

“Wow. Okay, I’m actually surprised. You don’t talk about that stuff at all.” Crowley was curious, but didn’t want to pry into what might be personal territory.   
  
Aziraphale shook his head, “It’s dreadfully boring most of the time. Board meetings, accountants, solicitors. I used to be more involved, but now that I have good people in place, it gets taken care of. I dabble in a little investing here and there, for fun.” He looked up at Crowley who still looked a little stunned. “Does it bother you?”

“No, just a little surprised, that’s all. I’m not hard up for cash either, but…” 

“But you earned it and I inherited a family legacy. I try not to take it for granted. My staff are all paid very well. They get excellent benefits and most are extremely loyal. I have no shareholders to answer to, so can choose to run the business as it suits me. Giving people job security at the expense of some profit is something I can afford to do.” 

“You really  **are** an Angel.” Crowley leaned in for another kiss. “Wear that suit, the one you wore to the Ritz,” he murmured. “You look fantastic in it. But I really really want to unwrap you like a present afterwards.”

“I think… ooh, darling… that could be… mmmm… arranged.”   
  


**************************************

“Yeah, we know about those two.” Mike shovelled a forkful of chips in, chewing quickly. The habits of a street copper with unreliable mealtimes hadn’t left him. “East European crime syndicate is my guess, but haven’t been able to pin anything on them yet. Pretty low profile.”

Crowley chased the last of the jus onto his last mouthful of steak thoughtfully, “Second floor guys, not Upright Men?”

Mike blinked “Now where did you learn that lingo, I wonder?”

Crowley grinned and tapped the side of his nose, “Not saying nuffin.”

Eyeing the redhead with a considering look, Mike said quietly, “Good news is, they don’t seem to be directly related to any ‘unfortunate incidents’, but the bad news is, someone is probably paying them for surveillance.”

Crowley smiled very slowly at the Detective and said in Latin, “ _ Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes _ \- Who Watches the Watchers?”

_ Mike shivered a little at what he saw under that expression. Crowley had hidden depths and a darkness that made even a hardened soldier wonder…. _

“Yeah well, better to keep watching them. But be alert. Something’s happened to make them escalate. Who knows what they might be planning?”

Frowning, Crowley said slowly, “I haven’t told Aziraphale yet. I’m afraid he will freak out a bit, and he still has some very warped ideas about family loyalty.”

“Maybe he just tries to see the good in people?” Mike rumbled as he waved down the server. “Dessert?”

“Might as well,” Crowley sighed. “Doubt there is any good to be found in those arseholes. I’ll tell him, just got to pick the right time.”

*******************************************************

  
**Several weeks later**

Adam signed his name on the document next to four other signatures, initialled all the appropriate pages and passed the contract over to Dr. Fell. Accepting with a smile, he signed on the one remaining spot, initialled and handed it over to his solicitor.

He turned with a smile, “Bright Angel Design Ltd., congratulations. Such an appropriate name choice.” He nodded at Tracy, “Madame Director.”

“Oh, away with you!” but the slight blush gave her away.

Rising to his feet, Aziraphale said, “Let’s leave the professionals to their work, shall we? Perhaps I could invite you all for lunch.”

Five slightly nervous young faces and Tracy nodded with a chorus of, “Yes please, Uncle F!”

As they walked out of the solicitor’s office, Adam and Warlock fist-bumped each other discreetly. “Now we just need to tell Crowley we are going to buy him out,” Warlock muttered quietly.

“He hasn’t officially announced his retirement yet, but Tracy told me the paperwork was pretty much sorted.” Adam frowned as they clattered down the stairs into the sunlight. “Separation anxiety maybe?”

*********************************************************

Crowley still hadn’t found the right time to talk to Aziraphale, and every day he didn’t it felt harder to say anything. His lover had slowly blossomed since their return to the city. Regular therapy visits were helping his anxiety. Dinners with Avi were a regular occurrence, Warlock and Pepper visited whenever they were in the area, Adam on occasion.   
  
Anathema and Newt had come down for a London weekend, came for lunch and stayed for dinner. The book talk had been a little tiresome for Crowley and Newt, and they had gone out to a bar for a couple of hours. They joked on their return that their absence hadn’t been noticed. 

Aziraphale had made  **very** certain that night that Crowley felt properly appreciated…

It was nice, the couple thing. Crowley had never considered himself one for much in the way of domestic bliss, but the thought of waking up to Aziraphale every morning was only increasing in its appeal. Slowing down, getting out of London - things he never thought he would want, yet found himself daydreaming about at odd moments.

He kept wandering into jewellers’ shops occasionally, with a quiet ‘just browsing,’ but never quite finding what his heart was looking for.

There was so much he wanted... a life together, a future… but he was afraid to reach out in case the fragile bubble that contained all his happiness burst, yet again.

Stuck in a limbo of his own making, he kept waiting for the right moment.

************************************************

Michael looked at the images sent to her burner phone and frowned. Aziraphale smiling, looking happy, even (she shuddered at the thought)  _ blissfully _ happy, walking with the tall redheaded man who appeared to be his lover.

Anthony J. Crowley.

No one seemed to know what the J stood for, which intrigued her slightly. Self-made man with a pretty rough start in life, from what little she had been able to establish. Foster families, adoption, early death of his parents, a nearly fatal injury. It was impressive, what he had gone on to achieve.

What on  **earth** did he see in her dreadfully boring cousin?

He didn’t need the money, that much was clear, and with those looks he could have pretty much anyone he wanted with one charmingly quirky grin.

Baffled, she flicked through the other photos, puzzled at why a leading orthopedic surgeon felt the need to call on Aziraphale regularly. Although his trips to a therapist were interesting. He was a regular social butterfly these days.

As Gabriel’s tenor voice rose in song accompanying the opera he was playing offensively loudly, Michael sighed. Hastur and Ligur had done good work, proving that the bookshop was securely protected, bristling with cameras and only accessible via the front door, in full visibility of the street.

No one unwanted was getting in, so perhaps instead, one might corner their quarry when he was outside of his secure fortress…. But the one thing she didn’t have was the necessary leverage to force Aziraphale to remember he had family he  **should** be responsible for.

Damn her hot-headed brother with his violent impulse control issues. Damn him to burn in the fires of hell for eternity, if she had her way.

************************************************************

Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief as he opened the email from their Planning Advisor. The council had finally approved Stage One of their renovation project from the new designer Carmine had finally decided on.

Handing over the precis from Dark Angel Enterprises without a qualm, she demanded an immediate start.

“Carmine, did you read anything beyond the exec summary?” Jonathan asked, knowing the answer. “Nothing happens until the local council agrees to everything. With a historic building it can take months or even longer, apparently.” Bureaucracy was the same worldwide, it seemed.

Eager to make a start, their designer had refined the plans to a much more surface-level approach. Less invasive, retaining the original integrity of the building and giving it a visual makeover, they had opted for a room-by-room approach to speed up the approval process.

The plan was that the council would like each step as it was done, and be easier to convince for future work. Of course, they had opted to start with the old ballroom on the first floor, clearly to make a statement. Typically, Carmine didn’t care about the details, so long as it got done.   
  
He forwarded the email to Carmine and the designer, asked for authorisation to transfer the funds into escrow and decided to take a lunch break.

Jonathan had a bad feeling about the whole thing. She was up to something, but he couldn’t quite figure it out yet.

****************************************************************

**Several weeks later**

“Where’s his nibs then?” Gavin puffed as he hauled his end of the generator across the ballroom floor, under strict instructions not to scratch the original wooden floor. “Couldn’t hack the smell again?”

Craig made a face. They’d gotten, well, not  _ used _ to it, but at least numb to the godawful stench that was far worse on a warm autumn day like today. He hoisted the cables slipping off his shoulder, lifting his side of the rig. 

“Meeting in Bath. Council stuff. Righto, this should do, down she goes, nice and easy. Cheers, mate.” 

He looked around, “What's the kid up to? Shay? SHAY? Get your scraggly arse in here and shift those bloody lights.”

“Coming… just charging my phone!” called a voice from the other room. Abruptly, the fancy chandeliers flickered. Then, with several loud pops, bulbs shattered and the room went dark.

“Fucking hell, how many times do I have to tell you NOT to plug anything in!! No bloody signal out here anyway. Christ!”

Shay walked reluctantly into the room, phone in hand. “Ummm… sorry, Boss.”    
  
“Did it fry your phone like I told you it would?” He could tell from the kid’s expression that it was a goner so he took pity, saying only, “Check the kitchen for something to clean up the glass with. And next time, listen when I tell you something yeah?”

Gavin was staring up at the antique chandeliers. “Can you even get bulbs to fit these any more?”

Rubbing the back of his neck in frustration, Craig sighed, “Dunno, that's Laurent’s problem now.” He checked his watch. “Okay, lets haul the rest of the gear in and call it a day.”

_ No one noticed the red-hot bulb filaments that fell through the cracks in the warped wooden floor to sit in the tinder-dry layer of decades of dust and debris that had settled into the crawlspace under the floorboards. No one was there to see the curls of smoke rise from the burning metal and flicker into stuttering flames which quickly found purchase in the dry, borer-riddled framework. _

_ No one was there to see as flickering orange heat glowed in the windows, climbing the walls and devouring every surface. The caretakers had been dismissed, so no one was there to call the fire brigade, not until the whole place was ablaze, lighting the sky with an eerie glow that someone driving past noticed in the distance. _

When Craig and his team rolled up at 7am the next day, there were two FRS appliances still hosing down the burnt-out shell of the manor house. They stood in shocked silence, struggling to understand what had happened.

Eventually, Craig pulled out his phone, walked the 100m or so it took to pick up a signal, and called their boss, who was decidedly unimpressed to be woken up so early.

“Yeah, ummm, I’m sending you some photos. It’s fucking burnt down, the whole place. Just gone.”

Laurent’s cultivated tones gave way to something a lot cruder as he snarled, “Do not fuck with me this early in the morning!”

Craig shrugged, said, “Check your email in a few minutes,” and hung up. He sent the photos and stood there, wondering what the hell would happen next. 

“I hope someone had insurance….” As his phone rang, flashing Laurent at him, he sighed. It was going to be a long day.

  
*****************************************************

Standing in line at the checkout in Tesco’s, Crowley felt his phone vibrate, and it kept vibrating in a random pattern that didn’t indicate a call. He was up next, so scanned all his groceries, paid, and left the store before ducking into a shaded area so he could see his phone.

“Fuck…” He watched as notifications flashed up from all his main social media accounts, then headed to his email. Sure enough, Tracy had him covered with a CHECK THIS ASAP!!!!!!

Clicking on the link took him to a picture of a burnt-out building that looked vaguely familiar. Then he read the headline and felt a chill claw its way up his spine…. Oh, shit.

MILLIONAIRE HEIRESS MANSION BURNS! INVESTIGATION UNDERWAY!

Crowley knew it was only a matter of time before he was dragged into the media shitstorm that was about to happen. Thank god Aziraphale had taken him to an art gallery show last night. With that and dinner at their usual Thai place, he had solid evidence that he had been in London. Even the security system at the bookshop would have him on camera, if need be. 

Fuck the stupid American bitch. Might be arson, might be accidental, god help the poor sods who were working onsite.

********************************************

When Jonathan broke the news, Carmine couldn’t believe her luck! The bloody place had burned down without her involvement. Not that her father would believe it, but the insurance would make it worthwhile.

Jonathan looked at the ever-increasing number of emails from media outlets, offering exclusives and scoops to interview Carmine. Under orders from her far scarier father, he issued polite refusals, forwarded copies to said father and then deleted them. 

No more press for the pampered princess, not after last time. Not without Daddy’s say so.    
  
Jonathan was willing to bet everything he owned she would forget that. He was quite looking forward to the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
>   
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>   * Feedback
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	39. Boundaries, Choices and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale struggles to deal with his personal issues, and Crowley has had enough. It gives him time to take stock of whats important. Decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *********************************************  
> Apologies, Most Delicious of Readers for such a long break between chapters. I got sucked into the Sherlock Fandom, plus being busy at work, meaning I didnt have a lot of spoons for writing.
> 
> In the mean time this fic celebrated its first Birthday!!! Thankyou to everyone who has followed along for such a long time. I promise - I WILL FINISH THIS!
> 
> As ever - thanks to @Hatknitter for excellent beta and brainstorming services  
> *********************************************

Crowley sighed and looked at his watch. Aziraphale was in a right royal strop and had not stopped bitching for 45 minutes, and showed no signs of winding down. Tired of being yelled at  _ again  _ for something that wasn’t his fault, he decided enough was enough.

Sifting through the debris on the coffee table, he found a notepad and a pen, scribbled a note, waited until Aziraphale was in the bedroom (still complaining), and silently left.

_ Christ, it’s been two weeks since the fire, the bloody paps have moved on. What the hell does he expect me to do about all the bloggers and wannabes? Not my fault they hang out, wanting to dig up some dirt, snap some shots they can sell. So hung up on what other people think. Who the fuck cares? _

Furious at the world in general, he snarled at yet another approach from some social media wannabe and strode off into the SoHo crowds.

*   
  
Eventually Aziraphale registered the fact his audience had left. Crowley had a distinct energy that filled any room he was in, and when he stopped talking long enough to notice the now-empty silence, Aziraphale felt abruptly ashamed. When he found the note, he sat with it crumpled in his hand, letting the guilt wash through him. 

He knew that he had a tendency to dwell on an issue when his anxiety got hold of it, but he realised now that he had unfairly blamed Crowley for the resurgence of media interest in their lives.

_ Aziraphale _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Eventually you might shut up long enough to notice I’ve gone. I can’t fix ALL the problems in the world, and you don’t seem to realise that your perspective is an issue.  _

_ Why do you care what other people think so much? What difference does it make?  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Seriously, you need to talk to Victor. And you need to do it before we see each other again. _

_ C. _

For a long time he sat, staring at his phone. Wondering if he should call or text, attempt to apologise. But even he managed to realise he had crossed a line and he needed to give Crowley some space.

_ I don’t want to talk to Victor about this… about how my self esteem is tied up in what other people think of me… how my family will judge me again and find me wanting…  _

_ How I’m so afraid all the time … that Crowley will lose patience with me, cast me aside. That I’m too damaged for him to bother. _

_ That I will be alone … again. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I’m such a mess. _

The application of some excellent whisky ensured a solid night's sleep and a memorable hangover. After managing a light lunch and a nap, Aziraphale finally called Victor’s office and made an appointment for two days’ time.

***   
  
Victor sat back in his chair with a frustrated look on his face. “Aziraphale, I know we have talked about this before, but why do you care so much about what your family think? Might I point out, this is the family who abused you, took you for granted, and expected you to fund their lifestyles?”

He paused for a moment, holding a hand up to indicate he wasn’t finished. “Why don’t you take into consideration the opinions of the people who  _ do _ love you? Crowley, Anathema, Newt, Tracey, Avi? You have friends who care about and support you. I genuinely don’t understand why you are so fixated on upholding the family name, when the rest of your family only seem to want the benefits without doing any of the work.”

There was a heavy silence and Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn’t know the answers to those questions, and he wasn’t allowed to ‘waffle on endlessly saying nothing of any substance’. Victor had been very firm about having his time wasted by someone who wasn’t prepared to do the work.

Softly, Victor carried on, “I know you were raised with firm religious beliefs, and we both know how you have internalised those along with the grief from losing your parents at such a young age. I’m going to give you some reading to do, and some questions that I want you to think about and write down some honest responses. Can you do that for me?”

Fighting the urge to blink back the tears he could feel welling up, Aziraphale nodded and mustered a wobbly smile.

“You hold on so tight to the things that matter to you and that's a strength. But only when you hold on to the  _ right _ things. Your life is very different now, it's time to choose what serves you best, and learn to let go of what doesn’t. This is some of the hardest work we will do here, but also the most important. Today has been rough, I will give you a few moments.”

_ As Aziraphale closed his eyes, silently letting the tears stream down his face, a fragment of memory from his childhood surfaced… _ _   
_ _   
_ _...Mama, I don’t want to go to Uncle Sandy’s. I don’t like playing with Gabriel, he isn’t nice… _ _   
_ _   
_ _ His mothers voice, soft and lilting, “Oh, my darling angel boy, I know, but we must always love our family, and forgive them even when they are not kind.” _

_ … But why, Mama?  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Because family is precious. Now, be a good boy and put your shoes on for your Mama.”... _ _   
_ _   
_ “How can I make different choices and still honour your memory, Mama?” 

He didn’t see the pensive frown Victor gave him as he left.

************************************

Fighting the urge to check his phone again, even though it would chirp if he got a message, Crowley fussed about his flat. It had been three weeks since he walked out of the bookshop, with only one apologetic email from Aziraphale. He was starting to get a bit stressed.

Still, he was sticking to his guns, so to speak. Aziraphale had issues and was still on the journey of learning to deal with them, and his current method of processing by verbally fretting about it needed to be managed. Crowley was as much a victim of events as Aziraphale, and being blamed for circumstances well beyond his control… it wasn’t fair.

He’d even scheduled his own session with Bee to talk it out and validate his choices. They had been quietly proud of him, in their own way, so while the enforced separation hurt, he knew it was the right choice. Choices have consequences, boundaries need to be present and enforced for a healthy relationship. 

With a dramatic sigh, he looked around, wondering what else he could occupy his time with.

_ What had he done before he spent all his spare time at the bookshop? Work? It had seemed fulfilling at the time, but now he was pleased he had other options. Well, would have, when they sorted themselves out again. _

_ Speaking of which…. _

Tracy had been quietly asking for weeks when he was going to formally announce his retirement. He kept telling her he was waiting for the right moment, but the truth was …  _ he didn’t want to let go…. For so long, the business had been everything in his life, and he wasn’t ready. _

“Time to put your big girl pants on, you daft git,” he said quietly to himself as he punched the combination into the safe and pulled out the stack of papers he’d been holding hostage. As he reached in for a file that had slipped back a bit, his fingers brushed a box tucked in the dark corner.

Curious, he removed the file, then carefully drew the heavy wooden box out and placed it on the table. Ornately carved, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, it was old and heavy. It was one of the few things he had kept from his surprise inheritance but he hadn’t looked at the contents in longer than he could remember. He knew it contained the family jewels (literally), but couldn’t remember any details of the contents.

Prising open the metal latch, he lifted the lid. Within the dark blue silk velvet interior was a small fortune in jewellery: strands of real pearls glowing next to the glitter of diamond pendants, rings, bracelets, opals, sapphires, rubies shining in nests of gold, silver. Mostly feminine pieces, but a few heavier masculine items. Signature rings, a gorgeous silver watch fob with a worn inscription.

Carefully lifting out the top layer, he found a bundled pile of letters, ink faded to near invisibility, wrapped in a tattered blue ribbon. Tied in the knot was a heavy white-gold ring, set with a deep blue, faceted sapphire and two square-cut diamonds. Fine filigree work decorated the bridge and band. Gently teasing the fragile ribbon open, he eased the ring out, looking closer.   
  
There was no inscription on the inside of the band, and it only showed light signs of wear. It was in dire need of a good clean and a polish, and possibly some remedial work to make sure the stones were set firmly. Crowley slid it onto one forefinger, where it eased home comfortably. Aziraphale’s fingers were larger than his, bony knuckles and all.

With a quiet clink, he laid the ring down on the table, putting the contents of the box back, and placed it back in its position at the back of the safe. Making a mental note to get the rest of the collection valued he pulled out his phone. Thumbing through his contacts to find an old connection who dealt in antique jewellery, he pressed CALL.

“Alex, yeah it's Crowley. I know, long time mate, too long. Yeah, I need your help… lunch? Oh you drive a hard bargain. Tomorrow? Yeah, text me the details. See you then.”

Thoughtfully, he went in search of a scrap of silk he could wrap the precious heirloom in. Tomorrow was Sunday. On Monday he would schedule a meeting with his team and rip the bandaid off.

***************************************************

A rustle of anticipation and excitement came from the assembled audience in the meeting room. Tracy had clued them in that Crowley was going to make the formal announcement, so they had come prepared with their own stack of paperwork and had the solicitor primed to be available by phone, if needed.

Crowley wandered in, stack of paperwork in one hand, steaming coffee cup in the other, and surveyed the expectant faces. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Tracy, who smiled and shrugged.

Setting the paperwork down, he sprawled in a chair, sipping coffee with a wry smile as his young audience waited with ever-increasing impatience. With a sigh finally he said, “Go on then, you are fairly bursting with it.”

Adam took his time to glance at all the others, getting nods and smiles before getting up and placing his own paperwork on the desk. Taking the time to flick through, a piece of showmanship that Crowley acknowledged with a grin, he pulled out a sleek folder.

“We want to buy you out, completely. Here’s what we think is a fair offer for all the assets, copyrights, and all the other legal stuff that would bore us both to tears.” He slid the folder across the table and sat down, finishing, “The deal is valid for 4 weeks from today.”

Whatever Crowley had been expecting, it wasn’t that. The shock showed on his face, and they enjoyed a brief moment seeing the boss rendered speechless. Quietly, he opened the folder, flicked through the pages briefly before settling back into his chair for a more solid read.

Hazel-gold eyes darted over the audience, lingering on both Adam and Tracy for a long moment before he said in a dazed tone, “How can you possibly afford this?”

Warlock said carefully, deliberately *not* looking at Tracy, “We have an investor. Who would prefer to remain silent and confidential.”

Tracy smiled serenely under Crowley’s gaze as he took the obvious bait and grinned, saying cheekily, “I thought you were going to retire too?”

“I will, once everything is bedded in. It’s not like they don’t know what they’re doing.” She smiled fondly at the redhead, “After all, I taught you everything  _ you _ know.”

He coughed pointedly, “Not  _ quite _ everything.”

Conscious of the still-expectant faces, he decided it was time to put them out of their misery, “It's a good fair offer, pretty close to the numbers I came up with. Let me talk to my solicitor and accountant, but… I’d be willing to accept this. If you are sure?”

Everyone nodded and Adam said, with quiet seriousness, “Absolutely, we have a lot of ideas and want to experiment, go in new directions. But we need …”

“Freedom to do that, yeah, I get it.” He favoured them all with a sad but fond smile, “Proud of you lot, going to miss you.”

Pepper, unsurprisingly, said with acid bite, “You have to bloody leave and not come back to do that, you know.”

Crowley blew her an ironic kiss, “Not going to miss the sass at all, and I’m still your boss. Go pretend to give a shit about your jobs for a change!”

As the kids filed out with excited chatter and banter, Tracy stood and walked over to Crowley, looking down at him.

“You alright?”

He shrugged, “Not really, but it had to be done. It's just… hard? Different? I feel a bit lost, and yet somehow relieved.”

“It’s a big change. Talk to Bee. Some of what you’re feeling could be classed as grief, and that's to be expected. This has been your family for such a long time. And still will be, remember that.” She smiled at him, “Stand up and give me a hug, you idiot.”

As he wrapped his arms around her, she hummed quietly and rocked them both, the way she had done with the lonely child who found his way to her porch.

*********************************************   
  
Avi settled back in his chair, watching Aziraphale pick at his lunch with a noted lack of enthusiasm that was quite unlike his normal approach to food.

“Is your meal alright?” he asked lightly, knowing this place was well above average, and the tempura was always excellent.

With a sigh, Aziraphale put his chopsticks down, looking at Avi for a moment with a reluctant look on his face, before looking down, and sighing again.

_ Ah… the sound of someone who needs to confess but doesn’t want to… if I am not mistaken… _

He carried on eating, giving his friend space to process, giving his attention to his food, which was no hardship. The teriyaki chicken was his favourite.

“I need to … apologise… to Crowley, and I’m not sure how to go about it, exactly.” Aziraphale looked slightly pained as he spoke, but Avi assumed it was more for his confusion than for the necessity of the apology.

“Generally, saying you are sorry works, so long as you are genuine. Did you have a tiff?” Keeping his tone casual, Avi noted the complex emotions that showed themselves clearly on Aziraphale’s face. He could never play poker – every thought was clearly visible – but his genuine distress was obvious.

Putting his food aside, Avi leaned forward. “Ah, something a bit more serious than that, I see. Can you give me a summary, perhaps? Just so I understand the situation.”

With a grateful smile, Aziraphale launched into an explanation that eventually painted a picture clear enough for Avi to see his conundrum.

“I see your dilemma. You want to talk, but are not sure how you will be received, which sounds fair enough. Perhaps … write him a letter, with a very short explanation, an apology, and a request to meet? Let him make the decision. It’s distant enough to give him space to think about it, but still personal from you.”

“Oh, thank you Avi, what a wonderful idea. Would it be too much, do you think, if I sent a gift as well? A nice bottle of wine?” Attacking his food with renewed enthusiasm, Aziraphale already looked brighter.

“Nothing too extravagant, but a token of your appreciation might well be welcome.” Avi smiled at his friend, who had no limits when it came to generosity. No doubt a bottle of exquisitely expensive wine or whisky would arrive on Crowley’s doorstep soon.

****************************************

**A couple of weeks later**

With both solicitors as witnesses, Crowley, Adam, and Tracey all signed their names on the relevant documentation, and just like that the deal was done.

“Well, congratulations, I guess. It's tough running your own business, but I’m sure you kids will do very well.” Crowley shrugged and looked round the room. “Alright. I guess drinks are on me, one last time?”

As everyone shook hands, and clattered down the stairs, Crowley offered Tracy his arm, as they paraded serenely out to meet the new owners of Bright Angel Studios.

He hailed a cab, and as they headed to a swanky cocktail bar not far from his flat, Tracy coughed delicately before saying, “Will we be seeing your Professor, by any chance?”

_ An expensive bottle of champagne had been delivered two days earlier, with a handwritten note from Aziraphale. He hadn’t opened the letter yet, not wanting to deal with the contents while he was still processing the final handover of his business empire to the next generation. _

Shaking his head, Crowley said with a sad smile, “Not this time. Just you, me and the kids.”

“They aren’t kids any more. They are the same age you were when you started out. I don’t think you realise that,” Tracy said pertly as she sat back in her seat, eyes narrowed at him in speculation.

“Christ, that seems like such a long time ago.”

_ When they got to the bar, and a very expensive bottle of champagne was opened, they toasted To New Adventures! _

**********************************

Michael frowned at her phone, and text back to Ligur 

**What do you mean, no activity? It's been weeks?**

**_Lunch, therapy and wanders in the park. No redhead._ **

**OK, stay on him.**

**_$$$_ **

**Will drop round next week.**

****************************************

Aziraphale jumped in surprise when his phone rang, and his heartrate picked up further when he realised it was Crowley calling.

“Ummm, hello?”

“Hey Angel, busy for lunch?”  _ Oh, that familiar lazy drawl. How he had missed hearing it. _

“Well, I am now.”  _ He called, he called, he called! _

“That's a bit rude, standing me up like that?” Crowley sounded surprised and a little hurt.  _ Oh buggered it up already, silly git. _

“What? Oh, drat it, no. I meant, yes, I would be delighted to have lunch with you. Sorry, I’m a bit flustered.” 

“Gotcha. Be round at yours, twelve-ish.”

_ Don’t apologise too much, say what needs to be said, and then SHUT UP! Don’t witter on like an idiot.  _

He used one of Victor’s breathing exercises to calm himself down, but in the end, while it was a bit fragile, they slipped easily into chatting and talking like they always did.

Aziraphale murmured a quiet, “I’m truly sorry, Crowley,” into the conversation, and Crowley nodded in acceptance. There would be a proper discussion later, but for now, it was enough.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Crowley's Back Tattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22958485) by [Suvroc (cuteandillusion)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuteandillusion/pseuds/Suvroc)




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